You Are As Ready As You Think You Are :: Wise Words

Yesterday was a big milestone for Haunani and me and all of the boat preparations so far. We had our safety inspection for the Singlehanded Transpac. The inspection was conducted by our designated LA area inspector for the SHTP, Whitall Stokes. I felt like I was very well prepared for the day, having gone through the checklist (what seemed to be) a million times. When Whitall arrived, we went through the list item by item. There were a few issues, and one glaring oversight on my part, but all in all it went well. By the end of the three hours that it took us to finish, my head was over full. Mostly full of thoughtful and useful recommendations from Whitall, but also of some sneaky fears that started to creep in due to all of the talk of what-ifs, safety precautions and such.

I didn’t realize how much of a toll all of this had taken on me until I woke up the next morning. I was utterly exhausted and my brain was swimming with what-ifs and potential scary scenarios that had never so vividly crossed my mind. I tried to shake it all off with a good cup of coffee, a work out and a workday on the boat, but it lingered heavily nonetheless. Thomas and I spent the afternoon working on our next batch of to-dos (which seems to be growing by the day, by the way). As focused as I was on our projects, all of my uncharacteristically paranoid thoughts continued to swirl (I hope I don’t get knocked down, what if my rudder falls off and I cannot get the e-rudder installed, what if I slip and break my leg, what if the electronics all fail and I am left to my own devices, what if I hit a shipping container, what if, what if, what if…..you get the drift). At the end of the day Thomas told me how amazing this was going to be for me, among other supportive and positive things. When I heard him say all of this, my thin veil of “toughness” was pierced, and I promptly welled up and pretty much lost it. I blurted out through my tears “I am scared”. There, I said it! Once I did, the waterworks turned on in earnest and I was able to voice every little worry from the real to the ridiculous. Thomas was, as always, the best listener and holder of space. He allowed me to let it all out, but also reassured me and helped me get back to a place of peace with it all. I am so grateful for our friendship and his support....I have no words. I am still feeling a bit raw, but I don’t want to run from that because I know that allowing these feelings is important. The process of preparing for this life changing adventure is every bit as emotional as it is logistical. The emotional was steering the ship yesterday, and I am so thankful that I am able to let my feelings out, experience them, and process them because they are an integral part of my journey. 

I suppose “scared” is an extreme term, because I am not terrified, or debilitated by the fear, but I say “scared” because this is unknown territory. As with every step of this journey, the unknowns have been daunting at times. With each experience of them however, I have moved through them to a new level of awareness… and also usually to a new fear. It’s a process and I am fully in it.

As one of my PSSA colleagues said the other day about me and my journey (when asked by another friend if he thought I was ready): “she is as ready as she thinks she is”. I am pretty sure he did not mean it to be taken in this way, but I look at this statement as a huge opportunity for me to believe in myself despite my fears…an opportunity to not allow them to derail me but rather to invite them to inspire self-inquiry and therefore growth.

Today I am feeling a bit more upbeat, and I am grateful for every feeling and nuance of this entire experience. It is already making me a stronger person, and a lot of that has come from allowing all of my feelings along the way. Its how I generally roll in life, so I am not sure why it feels more poignant in this situation, but it does.

my trusty inspector!

my trusty inspector!

 

 

400 Miles :: Finding My Way To Myself

I am not one to lose my words or ability to express my feelings very often, but somehow these two skills have been eluding me for days since I returned home last Wednesday morning from my 400 mile solo qualifying sail (for the Singlehanded Transpac). There was so much anticipation and nervousness leading up to this endeavor, that now that it is over, it seems far away and surreal. I had a lot of trepidation about this journey, but truthfully, leaving the dock was all it took to put the nervousness at bay. Once I was headed out, I felt at ease and at peace with what I was about to do.

After a lovely visit from some friends, and a flood of intense emotions that I did not expect, I left the dock at about 10pm on a Friday night. It was one of the most beautiful nights I have experienced in a long time. The wind was stiff, warm and uncharacteristically out of the north. The moon was waxing and just full enough to cast a beautiful light on the whole scene. As I exited the breakwater, I noticed a pretty large swell as well as more wind than I originally anticipated. Since I was heading out at night I thought I would be conservative and reef early. I am so glad I did, because once I attempted to reef my mainsail, I realized that the reefing lines were not in place. They had been removed that day to be reconfigured, and due to a misunderstanding, were not reinstalled (either by me or the person working on them). I was so disappointed and upset because I had bit the bullet, faced my nervousness and left the dock……I was on my way. I swallowed my disappointment, took ownership for my oversight, took a deep breath and headed back in to deal with it. Thankfully, I was close enough to the marina so that I could turn back and run the lines at my slip and not on a dark swelly sea. Once the reefing lines were in place, it was pretty late, and I was cross-eyed (not to mention the old sea adage of never leave the dock on a Friday was bobbing around in my head). I did not want to start my journey feeling like that, so I opted to get a good night’s sleep and head out early the next day. In the end, I am glad I did.

Saturday morning was a fresh start. I left my slip at about 7am, and headed out. I motored 10 miles to the northwest to get out to where I might see some wind. Thankfully at about 10am, the breeze came up and I was able to cut my engine and start sailing. My journey officially began in that moment. I was to sail 400 miles solo and non-stop before I returned home. The wind built throughout the morning, and before I knew it, I was double reefed and flying along in up to 26 knots of wind. I made great time out past Santa Barbara and San Nicolas Island. By the time the sun started to set, I could see them disappearing in my wake. I was a little queasy on this leg, which was very disconcerting as usual. I still loved every moment though and as the evening went on, I became more and more in shock and awe of what I was actually doing.

The next few days were filled with some of the most jaw dropping beauty I have ever seen. I was brought to tears numerous times. I felt as though I was in a sacred cathedral surrounded by spirit. It was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Waking up every day in a 360’ bowl of glassy purple-blue sea to watch the sun rise out of this horizon was beyond breath taking. The color palette and texture was ever changing, so much so that I found myself exclaiming out loud on a regular basis. I tried to capture this magic in photos and videos, but I am quite sure that they will never do justice to the majesty that I witnessed out there.

The wind was very light for most of my journey, but apart from a couple of becalmed hours, it was enough to keep us moving. I was disappointed to not have more wind, but I realize now that having to be patient and sit with the quiet of it all was harder (better) for me than it would have been to have been distracted and consumed by the constant boat handling and movement that comes with big wind. I had to sit with myself, which mostly was harder than usual, becauseI had a hard time sleeping, and became exhausted. That coupled with my mild seasickness and lack of good hot food created a painful scenario for me. Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of food, I just had really shitty food. I did not plan well, and underestimated the need for hearty home cooked meals. On a trip this short I could have easily planned for that, but did not. I will never do that again!

I did not see a soul in those 4 days and 4 nights, apart from a tanker in the distance. It was surreal to say the least. It was just my girl, the sea and me. It was the first time in my life I had been out of sight of land, and surrounded by 360’ of horizon for days on end. I thought that this might scare me, but instead, it gave me great solace. Surprisingly, I had no fears the entire time, except a brief bout of delirium (induced by sleep deprivation) in which I went down some negative roads about the possibility of pirates boarding my vessel in the night. Apart from this silly moment, a few battery issues and the angst that was created by feeling sick, I felt very safe, secure and happy out there.

I came to appreciate the simple rituals of my days and nights on the boat. I woke every 1-2 hours and logged my position, checked my sails, my batteries, the horizon and my chart plotter for ships and then tucked back on for another nap. During the day I was awake more, but still kept the routine of logging my position and checking all of the above regularly. I had a morning routine of cleaning and organizing the boat for a fresh start to the day. Mornings were when I felt best, so anything that required any energy was done then. The days and nights went on like this, augmented by nature’s beauty bringing me to my knees on a regular basis. I saw whales, dolphins, sea birds, land birds, jellyfish, dazzling stars, dramatic moonsets, sunsets and sunrises, the gamut of colors and textures of the sea and sky…it was utter magic. I listened to beautiful music, took sea water showers on the bow, lounged around without a stitch of clothing in the mid day sun, organized my boat, did some writing……there was a never ending infusion of beauty and inspiration which kept my spirits up despite feeling pretty crappy for most of my trip.

My favorite part of the trip was my last day and night. I was finally feeling better, which was cause for celebration in itself, but somehow that day seemed to hold the most magic of them all. I took in the sunset over San Nicolas Island on the bow with my 1st glass of wine of the trip. The combination of the island’s odd shape and the cloud formations made for one of the most spectacular sunsets of my life. I watched the liquid golden ball slowly drop as I reflected on so much….this experience, my life, loss, love, growth, my upcoming pacific crossing…it was a very introspective moment for me.. I was able to let go of some big things as that night arrived. Soon after dusk, I heard the blow of a whale very close to me. I could not see where it was, but the sound was so awesome and comforting. I was settling in for a long night of no wind (based on the predictions that were shared with me by sailing friends), when I felt a little ruffle in my hair. That is when I knew in my guts that I would be home by morning despite that bleak wind forecast. The breeze came up and I was soon scooting along into the night. When I reached Santa Barbara Island, the wind died for a bit, but I could see the wind line out past the island and my prediction definitely came true. I had the most incredible sail home that night under an almost full moon. I was moving along on a close reach at about 7 knots and Haunani was in her groove. I spent much more time on deck taking it all in than I had been able to before. I was feeling so good and was also so happy to be approaching my goal of sailing 400 miles alone. At about 4am, I crossed my personal finish line, and had a solitary celebration as Haunani carried me home. I watched the sun rise over Santa Monica Bay and turned my engine on as the wind died to travel the last 8 miles to the marina. I received so many lovely and supportive texts and calls as I made my way home, and was greeted on the dock by friends when I pulled in. All of this topped off with a HUGE and much needed hot breakfast complete with mimosas. I was delirious but beyond happy!

Once I got my wits about me and could reflect on my experience clearly, I understood why they make you do this to qualify for the Singlehanded Transpac. It is truly a shakedown trip. It is just long enough to see if you can be out there with yourself, and like the company you keep. It is just long enough to test your boat, your systems and your will. It is just long enough to push yourself to the edge of exhaustion to see how you react. It is just long enough to know whether you like being alone on a 34 foot capsule in the midst of a 360’ sphere of unpredictable natural solitude. Turns out I did! In fact, I loved it!

I loved the solace of the endless horizon. I loved being surrounded by water and sky. I loved that every moment was filled with natural beauty with each experience of it more surprising and unique than the next. I loved the routine of being at sea and the simplicity of daily life. I loved that I could only rely on myself at any given time. I loved that the only one out there to hold me accountable was me. I loved the quiet windless moments and the intense windy ones equally. I loved being a part of every mood of the sea. I loved the moon and the stars and every sunrise and sunset. I loved the sound of the water moving along Haunani's hull as I slept. I loved the steadfastness of my boat and how safe she always made me feel. I am truly humbled and deeply changed by the whole experience, and I know that this is only the tip of the iceberg! Talk to me in mid July!

Lessons learned:

Plan for meals and make sure hearty hot meals are involved!

Measure water intake and make sure I always drink even if I am not thirsty.

I am responsible for my boat, and the buck stops with me.

I need to learn more about efficient energy management.

Take motion sickness medicine before I leave on a big trip.

As Dad told me....make a check list and perform it every day.

SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

our track complete with my 52 mile dogleg in the middle :-)

our track complete with my 52 mile dogleg in the middle :-)

3 Months From Today :: Plus A Little Shout Out

I spent the early hours of my Saturday morning lounging in bed with my dogs, drinking coffee and reading from a beautiful book that was recently given to me by a dear friend. The book is called Blue Horizons and is a wonderful collection of short pieces about some pretty badass sailing adventures. Beth Leonard’s writing style speaks deeply to my soul, my sense of adventure and how the two are inseparable. I lost myself in her dreamy prose for a couple of hours and then headed out on a beautiful Southern California day for a walk with my pups. As I meandered out onto the Venice Pier to take in the waves and the view, something hit me….today is April 2! That means that my departure for Hawaii is 3 MONTHS FROM TODAY! Deep breath! A thousand deep breaths……

I am more ready than I have ever been, yet still healthily nervous about the whole endeavor. I am living and breathing all things Haunani and sailing right now, and yet in these coming 3 months, I still have some key things to prepare on my boat, a 400-mile qualifier to complete, and a boat to get to San Francisco. More deep breaths!

Sometimes I cannot believe that this is all happening! I suppose I should not be surprised at myself, for once I decide to do a thing, there is no stopping me, least of all time constraints. Who says I can’t decide to sail to Hawaii alone and get my boat and myself ready for something I have never done before in 10 months? Ha! It makes me chuckle at myself as I look back at my history of many such (insane?) undertakings. I would like to say it is all me, my headstrong nature, and my powers of manifestation that have made this happen, but I could never have even contemplated this without the help and support of so many incredible people. The one that stands out the most however, is my dear friend and soul-brother, Thomas Lehtonen.

Thomas has been 100% on-board since I announced this hair-brained scheme last September, and has never once questioned my intentions or plans. He has gone above and beyond to bring Haunani up to and beyond par. Not only has he graced my boat with his far-reaching and unmatched expertise, but he has also graced my life with his undying support, deep loving friendship, pep talks and gut busting sense of humor. He is the first to comfort me and lift me up when things get hard, and also the first to let me go out and do what I need to do (without cautioning or judging me) when he knows I need to prove something to myself. My friendship with Thomas could never fit into any kind of description, and certainly not into this blog post, but suffice it to say, I could never have gotten here without his love and support. I love you Thomas! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!

Thomas aboard his beautiful Cal 36, Runaway Blues

Thomas aboard his beautiful Cal 36, Runaway Blues

Sailing Into The Night :: A Solo Journey To Santa Barbara Island And Beyond

As I have shared before, I knew I had to get out onto the sea and face the unknown and my lingering (and growing) fear of sailing through the night alone. On Saturday I finally got out there and did it! To say that it was a transformational experience would be a huge understatement.

I left my slip at about 12pm, without much fanfare, but with a bucket of butterflies in my belly. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what I was about to do, and was a bit jittery as a result. As I left the main channel, I saw two of my friends from Bluewater Sailing. Although they were both teaching, they took the time to wish me well and cheer me on, which helped ease my nerves a bit. But still, as I left the breakwater, I was admittedly (and uncharacteristically) nervous and distracted. I have a hunch that this state of mind contributed to the little accident that sadly marked the beginning of my trip.

To make a long and extremely painful (and embarrassing) story short: as I was leaving the bay and getting underway, I slipped on a line in my cockpit and fell hard onto my arm. In my efforts to get my shit together (I am prone to vaso vagal syncope induced by sharp pain, and was trying not to lose consciousness, though I actually think I did for a minute), I missed the fact that a boat was fast approaching me off my starboard bow. I was shaken out of my haze by a man yelling “STARBOARD” at the top of his lungs. The rest was in fast forward mode, as I jumped faster than I have moved in a long time back to my helm and disengaged the autopilot for a last minute swerve. Between that and his efforts to avoid me, we thankfully avoided what could have been a bad collision. Despite the lucky outcome, I know that he was extremely shaken up by the experience and that completely breaks my heart. Besides feeling so awful, I took a huge hit to my confidence and of course, to my ego (embarrassment). It took me hours to shake it off and forgive myself. In the end, I am just grateful it wasn't worse and that the man with whom I shared this stressful experience is totally gracious and forgiving.

Once I shook off the horrible feelings of that experience, I was able to take in my surroundings and the magnitude of the adventure upon which I had just embarked. The first part of the day felt like any other sail, as much of it was spent sailing up the coast towards Malibu. I needed to get high enough to make the island. I had great wind at first, and even was reefed for a while. The wind died down to a very mellow 10 knots after a few hours, and I shook out my reef and had a lovely sail out across the channel. I was trying to trust that I would get lifted to the island as the afternoon went on, but it soon became obvious that the opposite was happening, so after a lot of back and forths, I took a final tack north and it ended up being the right choice as this enabled me to make the island easily. All of this navigational strategy was somewhat new to me since until now all I had ever done were day sails without a set destination or trips to (and around) Catalina. Needless to say, I learned a lot. It was fun to look at my track after the fact and see what I could have done better.

As night started to fall, I was feeling surprisingly calm and completely mystified by the fact that I was out there all by myself. I poured myself a glass of wine and toasted Haunani and said a little prayer of gratitude for this amazing opportunity. Once the sun was gone, it became very dark. I knew the moon would come out soon, but somehow in that interim, I made peace with the night. I recorded a little video (below) in which you can see nothing but you can hear how I was feeling in that exact moment.

Right before I decided to make my first attempt at sleeping, the moon started to rise. It was unlike any moon rise I have ever seen, because she looked as though she was coming straight out of the sea. She was in a waning phase and looked so majestic as she made her ascent. I bid her goodnight and headed below for my first of a series of 35 minute naps. The first one was fitful to say the least, as I was hearing noises I have never heard on my boat before. It was a symphony of bizarre sounds that once demystified, actually became very soothing. The creaks were the most disconcerting to me, but I soon realized Haunani was rolling along as strong as ever and the creaks were just a part of her language. As my friend had warned me, the seas were “lumpy” approaching the island, and he was right. The boat was moving in a way I had never experienced. We were moving along at about 5 knots, on a close reach, which was normal enough,  but the movement of the boat was so odd. It was gentle and violent at the same time. It felt like we were bobbing around on shaving cream waves that were pushing us in every direction, while still moving us forward (weird description I know, but its how I felt). That only lasted until I made my last tack to make the island, and then the seas were following us and gently pushing us along. We appreciated the help, because the wind was very light.

At one point on this leg, after a very rude alarm awakened me, I popped on deck to check on everything. That moment stopped my heart...it was so magical. Not only was the moonlight glistening off the water in the most incredible way, but a pod of dolphins suddenly appeared and were LEAPING off the port stern quarter of Haunani. They were not swimming along as I have normally seen them do, but they were enthusiastically leaping feet out of the water and seemed to be playing. I couldn’t even believe my eyes! They were gone as quickly as they appeared, and of course I like to believe they came to check on us and to tell us everything was more than OK. Soon after that, I was getting close to the island and the wind was very light. I decided to motor around since sailing would not only have taken hours, but the wind direction was such that I would have had to tack way away from the island in order to make it. I guess that’s the luxury of not being in a race! I rounded the island at 4am, and then shut the engine off, rolled my genoa back out and started my final leg home to Marina Del Rey. Once I was clear of the island, I got my first real sleep of the night. Two one hour naps back to back were just what the Dr. ordered, and although I cannot say I felt good after that, I definitely felt better. Sleep deprivation and me do not do well together, so hopefully this will be the start of some kind of symbiotic relationship in which we can just learn to deal with each other. Coffee and some good tunes helped me to welcome the day, as well as some sweet satellite messages from my lovelies that had come in through the night. I was disappointed not to see a sunrise, but the grey chilly day had other things in store for me. The trip home was uneventful as the wind was extremely light. Once I was through the shipping lane, I actually motored the rest of the way home, because I wasn't moving at all, and delirium was setting in (and as I said before, I was not racing!!).

As I came down Marina Del Rey's main channel, I was greeted by various friends who also happened to be out sailing. Everyone was so enthusiastic and the cheers felt so nice! My favorite moment was when a dinghy came speeding up to me piloted by a guy with the worlds hugest smile….my dear friend Jaime. He was there to greet me and was taking pics of my girl and me as we came in. It brought tears to my eyes to feel so supported! That was only topped off by an impromptu lunch on the boat complete with mimosas and a couple of dear friends.

one of the pics Jaime snapped as I came into the harbor

one of the pics Jaime snapped as I came into the harbor

When a few people asked me how my trip was, without thinking, I said, “life changing”. I know that sounds dramatic, but it truly was life changing. A portal was opened. One that can never be closed, and through that opening I have glimpsed a new world: a magical world where solace, solitude, living in the moment and self-reliance are queen, and a feeling of being at one with nature takes on new meaning and depth. I stepped through a door of possibility on Saturday night. Although I am not deluded by the fact that I had idyllic conditions, I have proved to myself that I can sail alone through the night. I did what I set out to do! Doing it this one time has given me the confidence to know that I can do it again and again and again. I am so grateful for the opportunity, as well as for the support of all of my friends and family. I am not sure you all know what peace of mind and strength each message, talisman, thought and sentiment expressed gives to me. I felt like you were all there with me in spirit, and that to me, is priceless.

Marina Del Rey to Santa Barbara Island and back again was 126.47 miles and we made the trip in a little over 24 hours!

Marina Del Rey to Santa Barbara Island and back again was 126.47 miles and we made the trip in a little over 24 hours!

 

 

 

Full Moon Sailing :: Soul Food

Yesterday was the full moon, and I got a wild hair and decided to grab some friends and head out at sunset to enjoy it on the water. Since my racing debacle last week, I have been feeling particularly tender and in need of being on the water. My goal has been to get back on the “horse” and get out there every day. It has been the best medicine ever!

We left the dock around 5:30pm and cruised out of the marina into a beautiful California sunset. There was no wind at first, so we motored out, but as we made our way past the breakwater and into the bay, the wind started to come up. Soon we were under full sail and cruising along at 6-7 knots.  The moon rose dramatically over the city, while the unseasonably warm northerly breeze kept us trucking along. We were the only boat as far as we could see, and the feeling of sailing out into the darkness with the giant yellow moon in our wake was euphoric to say the least. I could have stayed out there all night, and wish I could have! It is a night I will never forget and will go down as one of my favorites of all time! Sailing always heals me, but this sail in particular went very deep. I am so grateful to my lovely friends for joining me and sharing in such a magical experience.



Tough Decision :: Aborting My First Big Race

I am not sure where to even start with my experience yesterday. I guess I will start at the beginning. When I decided to enter the SHTP last September, my sailing career took on a life of its own. Until then, solo day sails (albeit many) and solo trips to Catalina were the pinnacle of my singlehanded sailing experience.

As a way to train and learn, and take things to the next level, I joined PSSA (Pacific Singlehanded Sailing Association). I am so grateful that I did, because even at this early stage in my membership, this group has pushed me to learn and grow as a sailor in ways I cannot even explain.

heading out of my slip

heading out of my slip

Merely their existence as experienced and brave singlehanded sailors is inspiring, then you add the actual experience of being surrounded by them all on their boats at the start of a long race, and the expression “being humbled” takes on a whole new meaning. I was sincerely taken aback yesterday as we all gathered and swarmed for the start of our race to Bishop Rock (about 100 miles offshore). I was so proud to be a part of it, and felt pretty good as Haunani and I crossed the starting line neck in neck with all of these experienced guys.

preparing for the start (in the midst of badasses :-))

preparing for the start (in the midst of badasses :-))

We all headed out, and fairly shortly (as usual) Haunani and I were at the back of the pack. I still felt good though, and we carried on, taking in the beautiful day. The wind came up a bit about 30 minutes out and I was getting overpowered and pushed down into a big tanker. I needed to be able to point higher and make my boat perform more efficiently. I first reduced my headsail and traveled my main way up, to see if that would help. It did for a bit, and I was able to clear the tanker. It soon became obvious that I needed to reef my main as well though. I noticed at the start that two of the guys were already reefed. I wish that I had followed suit. When I reefed, I had a few embarrassing snafus (thankfully I was alone) involving my new 3rd reefing line getting stuck around my boom and an accidental 360. It was not pretty, and I was a sweaty mess by the end of it all. I did get Haunani reefed though (even if it was NOT in record time), and we were on our way once again. It was a beautiful day, and I was thoroughly loving being out there. The afternoon light started to soften, and I was marveling at what we were actually doing out there. Despite my lifetime of sailing, I have never sailed a distance like this, nor through the night….let alone by myself!  As we sailed along, I noticed that my new autopilot was not holding a course as it should. We were rounding up and zig zagging. I hand steered for a while and that was much better (so I knew that my sail trim was ok). I was getting hungry and was in need of warmer clothes and the head, but couldn’t leave the helm. When I did my boat would round up and basically stop. It was very frustrating to say the least.

As the frustration set in, so did all of my fears and self-doubt. I started to imagine the night, and how I would handle this issue as well as all of the other unknowns that lurked. I have AIS and radar, but truthfully have never had to trust in them as a safety measure in order to sleep without worrying. I was afraid I would never sleep, and I was already exhausted (I had not slept well the night before because of nerves). This little cocktail of emotions and exhaustion was what sent me spinning off into a bit of a melt down. The tears came, and then came the “what do you think you are doing out here” self-deprecatory thoughts. I went down every road from feeling I was letting myself down (as well as my Dad…and Thomas who had worked so hard in the days before my race to make my boat ready), to the fear of being judged by my fellow sailors, to “imposter syndrome” (those of you that have it know what I am talking about :-)). It was a negative spiral and I knew I needed some perspective. I called my dear friends Thomas and Silvia who had just been out on Thomas’ boat to watch the start, and they were both extremely supportive and offered calming and sound advice…mainly not to beat myself up and to do what I felt was right. I then called my Dad and Jaime, who both said the same. That is when I decided to turn around and head home. I was completely mortified to have to call in on the radio to announce in front of all my fellow racers that I was quitting. It was a very hard moment for me, but also a necessary one, so I bit the bullet.

Despite the agony of making the decision, I am glad I headed back, because my autopilot continued to give me problems (even worse at that point). Despite this, we had a beautiful sail home and it provided some quiet time to reflect on what had just happened. I realized that technical difficulty aside; I was not ready for that trip. I had not sailed my boat (except 2 short sails in super light wind) in almost three months. I had done a lot of sailing on other boats, but not the kind I needed to do to prepare for this trip and keep my chops up. I was rusty, and as a result, my confidence was not where it needed to be to tackle something so big and new. I also did not give myself sufficient time to learn and become familiar with all of my new electronic equipment, including my autopilot. It was a bit of a scramble at the end to even get me off the dock yesterday.

What I learned through all of this is that I have a very solid foundation, but in deciding to take on this new level of sailing, I am once again a beginner. I have to be patient with that fact. The way through it is practice and exposure, and knowing when I need to back off….like yesterday. I have become healthily aware of all that I have to learn, and am very committed to learning it. The next month will be filled with long practice sails, and deep study and practice with my new equipment. Everything is always all about growth and the process for me, and a big part of that is embracing and learning from the tough stuff. Yesterday was one of those times and I am very grateful for it!

Haunani and I tucked safely back into our slip around 7:30pm

my very short lived trip recorded by my tracker

my very short lived trip recorded by my tracker

Thanks to my dear SIlvia for capturing these shots



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

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