A Little Cove and a Return to Myself

There is something about being on my boat alone that reminds me of who I am.

I came over to Catalina island this weekend by myself for the first time in about four years. There was a time when I came over here alone all the time, but because of everything I have been through over the last several years, those solo trips have been a little more limited. So simply being here on my own again feels significant. Like I am getting back on my game and returning to a part of myself that is very important to my well being and centeredness.

I am tucked into a magical little cove that Brendan introduced me to. I have been coming to Catalina for many, many years, but somehow I had never been here until he brought me. I am so grateful to him for sharing this place with me because it has become incredibly special to me.

It is different from many of the other places I have stayed around the island. You have to anchor bow and stern here so the boats don’t swing and more of us can fit safely into the cove. There are also no generators allowed after 5 PM, and in general people seem to understand the spirit of the place. It is quiet and respectful and truly peaceful.

I love Catalina, all of it, but the experience can be very different in some of the busier coves, with crowded moorings, generators running, loud music and people partying. There is nothing wrong with enjoying the island that way, but for me it changes the feeling of being out here and connecting with nature. In this little cove, things get quiet. You hear the water against the boat. You notice the light changing on the hills. You swim in water that right now is an absolutely blissful temperature. It feels like you can actually settle into the place rather than simply visit it.

This trip had another milestone for me. I anchored here by myself for the first time.

I had moral support standing by, which I appreciated, but I did it. I have set the bow and stern anchors here many times with Brendan and with my crew, and before coming over I had practiced the whole process about a million times in my head. I knew what needed to happen and in what order. When the moment came, I was grateful for calm conditions and enough space to take my time, and I got it done.

There is something deeply satisfying about that. Not because I need to prove that I can do everything alone, but because doing these things alone reminds me of what lives inside of me. Of WHO lives inside me.

I have spent so much of my life orienting myself around other people. I understand that about myself now in ways I didn’t when I was younger, and I still have to work with that tendency every day. But something changes when I am alone on my boat. I am responsible for the decisions. I have to trust what I know. I have to solve the problem in front of me. There isn’t much room to look outside myself for the answer.

The boat also gives me something I have a hard time finding anywhere else: deep presence.

You can’t help but be in the present moment when you are operating a sailboat, especially when you are the captain, crew and everything in between. Even when everything is calm, you are paying attention. Where is the wind coming from? How is the boat lying? Are the anchors holding? What is that sound? What is the weather doing? What are the other boats doing? You are constantly taking in information and responding to what is actually happening rather than what might happen or what happened yesterday.

I think that is part of why being out here feels so restorative to me. It brings me back into my body, my senses and my own decision making. It reminds me of my autonomy, my identity and my internal power.

And strangely enough, it is not all that different from what making art gives me. Both require me to pay attention to what is happening right now. Both ask me to respond rather than control everything. Both give me a way back into myself that doesn’t require me to think my way there.

This morning I took a long walk. It is hot, but absolutely beautiful, and later I will probably get back into that glorious water. Brendan being sick changed our plans unexpectedly, and instead of the weekend we thought we were going to have, I found myself with this stretch of time alone. So I am taking it. I am writing. I brought art supplies. I am swimming and walking and sitting on my boat in this beautiful little cove, allowing myself to enjoy my own company.

I am grateful for Brendan introducing me to this place. I am grateful for the calm conditions that gave me the space to do something new on my own. And I am grateful to feel this part of myself coming forward again.

Maybe that is what I love most about being alone on my boat. It doesn’t make me autonomous or capable or strong.

It reminds me that I already am

The most important lesson I have ever learned in sailing

This post is inspired by a recent conversation with a very brave woman and is dedicated to all the women I know who step forward in the sailing world, willing to learn, stretch beyond their comfort zones, and continue pushing themselves to grow stronger, more capable, and more confident with every mile they sail. It is also a shout-out to the men in my life who have been safe and encouraging mentors, people with worlds of experience and a depth of humility and graciousness that I will never forget. The most important of these is my partner, Brendan Huffman, who continues to inspire me with his quiet confidence and the way he tirelessly works to lift not only women in the sailing community, but the entire community, through encouragement, respect, and empowerment.

There was a time not so long ago, when, without realizing it, I believed that experience automatically meant wisdom, and that the most confident person in the room must know more than I did.

Early in my offshore sailing journey, when I decided to get more serious, I handed over way too much authority to certain men who presented themselves as experts but led through intimidation, ego, and control rather than mentorship. One in particular used his knowledge to belittle, compete with, or bully others, especially women who did not fall in line with his need to be the only authority.

It took me time and experience to stop automatically trusting anyone who presented themselves this way, and to learn to weigh their knowledge alongside how they treated the people around them. And, to be clear, this lesson reaches far beyond sailing for me. It is deeply connected to my healing journey and the long process of learning to separate my sense of self from the need to appease others through fawning. Instead of moving toward unsafe personalities in an attempt to keep the peace, I have been learning to stand firmly in myself, to trust my perception, and to choose consciously who I allow to influence my path. It has been a lifelong journey to arrive here, and one I continue to honor every day.

Seeking guidance from experienced sailors is essential, especially in offshore sailing where the stakes can be high and safety is paramount. The key though, is to never abandon your own inner wisdom in the process. Even when someone genuinely is an expert and knows more than you, you do not have to learn from them if their way of teaching involves belittling, diminishing, or undermining you. As I mentioned, I have had the privilege of learning from generous mentors, including several men in the sailing community, who guided me with skill while also lifting me up and acknowledging what I was already doing well. That is the fine line: finding mentors who strengthen your judgment instead of replacing it.

I have become a much more skilled sailor in the last ten years, but the most important lesson I have learned is to trust my own perception and to be mindful about whose guidance I allow into my life. Skill matters, but character matters more. When someone appears confident yet consistently tries to make you smaller, dismisses your voice, or treats your growth and visibility as a threat, it is often a reflection of their own insecurity and a clear red flag.

If there is anything I would share with women entering the sailing world, or wanting to get more serious about sailing, it is this: trust your gut even when someone knows more than you. Self-trust is the most important navigation tool we have, both at sea and in life. Learning who to trust is not separate from trusting yourself; it is part of it. There will always be people who try to compete with you, and there will always be people who invest in your success. Choose the ones who help you grow stronger, not smaller, and keep listening to the powerful inner voice that guided you to begin this journey in the first place.

The Ladies Got Guts Race Is Baaaaack!

Palos Verdes to Cat Harbor, Catalina Island, September 2025

Last weekend it felt like something important was restored and reignited.

After more than five decades, the Ladies Got Guts Race returned—originally created by Del Rey Yacht Club in the 1960s and brought back this year with the support of DRYC and Brendan Huffman, who poured so much heart and energy into making it happen. The race hadn’t been run since sometime in the 1970s. It was the precursor to WOW/WAH and, as far as we know, it’s the only distance race on the West Coast where women are required to drive the entire course.

We had eleven boats at the starting line off Palos Verdes Point. Ten of us made it to the finish at the West End of Catalina Island, rounding Eagle Rock (or whatever name you call it—we have heard them all :-) ) and heading into Cat Harbor. Some boats had ratings, some didn’t. Some of the crews had raced together for years, and some had never raced at all. None of that mattered. If you showed up ready to take the helm and go for it, you were in.

The course was shortened due to conditions, so we didn’t get to have our much anticipated run down the backside of Catalina, but we had a wonderful race across the channel. Once we were all moored in Cat Harbor, we gathered at Schultz’s Landing for a mellow, come-as-you-are celebration. No frills, no schedule, just women who love sailing, and the amazing men who support them (shout out to the awesome guys who provided their boats so more women could get in on this race), sharing stories, drinks, snacks, and a lot of laughs.

At one point, Jana encouraged all the women who had driven that day to gather for a photo—there were 23 of us, with all levels of experience. That moment felt really important to me. At most regattas, seeing a handful of women at the helm is a good day. Here, it was the whole point. And it showed.

I had three women on board Cassiopeia who were beyond stellar crew:

Carrie Linskey Peters—my soul sister, longtime wing woman and tactician, with whom I have sailed and raced more times than I can count, dropped this gem when debriefing about our tactics “Sometimes you need to get greedy—put some in the bank, take the lifts early and while you can, because sometimes that big one you need and want doesn’t come as expected.” 

 Jana Davis—she brings years of racing and foredeck experience and an unparalleled focus. She sees what needs to be done and gets it done, often before anyone else even sees it. Always on, always ready to jump in. As she put it best, “When the race is long, it’s your commitment to each other that makes the difference.”

And Megan Spurling Marsh—who hadn’t been on my boat before but slipped right in like she’d always been there. She brought a grounded ease that added so much to the crew. Like Carrie, she has been racing most of her life and exudes the kind of embodied confidence that’s instantly felt.

We hadn’t sailed together before as a foursome, but the flow was effortless. There was no tension, no performance energy, just trust, flow… and a lot of laughter. That kind of ease and trust is so priceless and I’m so grateful for these women for bringing it. I found that I could actually relax, knowing everyone had each other’s backs and the boat was in good hands.

After a slow Sunday morning on the island, a big, yummy breakfast, coffee, more good laughs, and a nice walk to “town”, we headed out for the sail home. The sky was so blue, the breeze was perfect, and we got to fly the gennaker the whole way back to Marina Del Rey. Nobody was in a rush. It was a perfect, relaxing sail. After the energy of the race, it was exactly what we needed.

As I look back on the weekend, I can feel the energy and excitement that this race sparked in our community. It made an impact, not because it was high-stakes or competitive, but because it created a safe space for women to come together on the water, across generations and levels of experience, and take the helm without pressure.

What really stood out to me was the spirit of support and camaraderie. Everyone showed up with a willingness to help, to share, and to lift each other up. There was an unspoken mutual respect. No ego, no posturing, just women (and men) showing up for each other and for the joy of being out on the water together. It felt honest, fun, and connected in a way that reminded me why this kind of event matters. Showing up was enough. Being present was enough. And that made it something I really want to see more of in our community.

I’m grateful I got to be part of it.
And I hope it’s just the beginning of something much bigger!

Cruising to Santa Cruz Island with My Soul Sisters

We slipped out of Marina del Rey at 0500 on September 8, side-by-side with Monica and Jazmine on Ofelia. Pre-dawn departures on a boat are my favorite! The calm, still air holds the promise of adventure, and a sunrise at sea (even if near shore) always slays me! My crew was my soul sister Silvia, and our collective excitement about our destination of Santa Cruz Island was palpable.

Leaving MDR with Ofelia by our side

About two-thirds of the way to the island, when we decided to cross the shipping channel and head to Smugglers despite the conditions (solid short-period swells and about 22 knots of wind), my autopilot decided to bite the dust. It started turning us in a hard circle to port and wouldn’t disengage. Suddenly Cassiopeia was spinning in circles—right in the middle of the Santa Barbara Channel shipping lane, in 22 knots of wind! I had no control of my boat. Two minutes felt like two hours.

In the midst of this “moment,” a massive ship hailed me, saying he noticed I had changed course and wanted to know my intentions. I had to laugh—because I was indeed changing course, but not by any choice of my own. Thank God for AIS and vigilant ship captains! They were gracious and said they’d keep an eye out for us until we were clear. I had Silvia disengage all of the electronics, regained control, and passed the ship safely port-to-port. By then, I’d made the call: we would divert to Channel Islands Harbor to repair the autopilot (in case you’re wondering, we did not technically need the autopilot, but because of an old wiring issue, disengaging the autopilot meant I couldn’t have ANY of my instruments, and we needed the depth at the very least for anchoring).

The rest of our little fleet followed, and what could have been an annoying detour turned into a lovely night on the guest dock. Honestly, I think everyone was secretly relieved, because the conditions out there were truly miserable—it was an actual bash up the coast for most of the day. With the help of my amazing marine electrician, Joe, who talked me through the repair over the phone, I had Cassiopeia’s autopilot back in working order by happy hour. We shared a beautiful dinner together and decided to aim for Santa Barbara the next day instead of charging into the predicted heavy winds at the island.

The trip up to SB was stunning. The light, the coastline, the sea all felt magical. Silvia and I even got in a perfect hour of sailing. We were so happy out there that we kept going, sailing past the harbor before finally heading in to join the others. That evening we gathered aboard V Tack for happy hour, joined by the crew of Harmony, who had already been in Santa Barbara for a couple of days repairing their engine.

The next morning, all four boats headed out for Fry’s Harbor. That sail across the channel was invigorating and definitely one for the books. By the end the wind was up to 23 knots and the swells were big, but Cassiopeia was flying along in her groove and handling it all like the brick house that she is. It was one of the most exhilarating sails I’ve had in a long time. Silvia had never been in conditions like that, and her joy mirrored mine. I texted Brendan and said, “This is what I live for.” And it truly is.

We were first into Fry’s, and I’ll admit, I was a bit nervous. The wind was still whipping outside the tiny cove, and I’d never been there before and was unfamiliar with the best spots to anchor. We waited until the others arrived to make a call, and then with Silvia’s calm support and Melody’s recommendation of where to position ourselves, we nailed our bow and stern anchoring on the first try. Later, we helped the others get settled. That evening, everyone gathered aboard Cassiopeia for happy hour, sharing tales of the day’s adventures and the most delicious home made ceviche I have ever had (thanks Fred)!

Santa Cruz Island is wild and desolate. It felt familiar, yet so different from Catalina. We stood a regular anchor watch through the night, but despite the wind, Cassiopeia held beautifully. The next morning, we explored by kayak and dinghy, slipping into caves and marveling at the rugged coastline and sea life. The raw beauty took my breath away at every sight.

By noon we were off to Prisoners Harbor. This cove was a completely different vibe with its long rocky beach, craggy rocks and small pier. We swam, kayaked, and soaked in the beauty all day. Some boats stayed there two nights, but Monica convinced us to press on with Ofelia to Little Scorpion the next morning. I’m so glad she did.

We left Prisoners just after dawn and arrived in time to enjoy the whole day. Little Scorpion was the highlight of the trip. The cove was calm, crystalline, and emerald-colored. It felt magical, and honestly almost too perfect to be real. We stayed two nights, and despite the wind on the second night, it was peaceful and idyllic.

My favorite things about cruising are the sea(wo)manship challenges, the management of the boat, the technical problem-solving, the physical work of it all. It’s not easy, but it fills me up and pushes me in the best ways.

The trip was so much more than this though. Though the cruising was epic, it was the sisterhood: the gift of sharing this adventure with women who fill my heart and share the same sense of adventure as I do. Silvia was extraordinary. Though she’d never done anything quite like this, she was the most supportive, competent, joyful crew I could have asked for. She was tidy, helpful, quick to learn, and her enthusiasm lit up the boat. She was such a great support, especially since this was my first time doing any serious anchoring without Brendan. Everything I’ve learned from him over the years came together, and I felt myself step into a new level of competence.

I’m also deeply grateful to Melody. Her patience, expertise, and steady leadership made the whole experience possible for us newer Channel Island cruisers.

We departed before dawn on Monday to return to Marina del Rey. There wasn’t much wind for sailing, but the motor-sail home was still glorious. By 2:30 p.m. we were back inside the breakwater. We were tired, sore, and salty, but full to overflowing from the adventure.

This cruise, sponsored by the Women’s Sailing Association of Santa Monica Bay, was my first official WSA cruise in all my years of membership. And I’m so glad I finally went. The beauty of Santa Cruz Island is beyond words, and while our photos will help, they’ll never quite capture the wild magic, the laughter, strength, courage, and sisterhood that defined this trip. I am already counting the days until next year’s cruise!

Most photos are mine, but thanks to Silvia for some of hers as well. Her eye is unparalleled!

Pre sunrise magic at Little Scorpion

Moonset at Little Scorpion

An Auspicious Homecoming

 Two years to the day after I left for the Bay Area—though I didn’t plan it that way—Cassiopeia and I slid back into our slip in Marina del Rey. The sun was out, boats were headed out to race, and familiar faces called out from across the water with big waves and “welcome home” energy. My heart cracked open. I felt it deeply in my soul—we were home.

And as we made the final turn into the dock, there was Monica—one of my dearest friends—waiting on the dock with a bouquet of flowers, ready to catch our lines. It felt like joy and gratitude and relief and wonder all at once. After everything, I was back. With my people. In a place that is so me.

The 375-nautical-mile trip down from Sausalito was pure magic. Brendan helped me pick a perfect weather window, and Mother Nature delivered—calm seas, just the right amount of swell and wind, in just the right direction. It was a spectacular trip, one that deeply nourished me.

We left Sausalito at 0500 on April 5. We pulled out of the slip that had been home to both Siren and then Cassiopeia for the past four years. I’ll miss the view, and the neighbors who became friends, but I could feel LA calling me home.

We motored out in the dark, hoisted the main, and passed under the Golden Gate Bridge by 0530. That bridge always knocks my socks off—but this time, lit up and silhouetted against the stillness of a pre-dawn sky, it felt especially sacred. Like a quiet blessing for the journey ahead. The first leg was long but kind. We reached Monterey by 1630, topped off fuel, shared an early dinner, and crashed hard.

The next morning came fast—off the dock by 0330, heading to Morro Bay. That day started a little rough. We motored right through a kelp paddy in the dark and didn’t realize it until the prop started complaining. It took a bit of maneuvering to shake it loose before we were on our way again.

Then we lost the autopilot. Thankfully it was daylight and in calm conditions, because I had to crawl into the lazarette, deep in the stern of the boat, to fix it. The ram had shaken itself loose, which was a quick mechanical fix. But then came the wires—those sensitive little threads that connect the ram to the brain of the system. With some coaching from my amazing marine electrician (shoutout to Joe), I managed to reconnect them. After a couple of hours, she was back online. And—thank GOD—I didn’t get seasick! Phew!

The rest of the day was gorgeous. More spectacular conditions and even a few solid hours of sailing. We pulled into Morro Bay before sunset, which was such a treat. I’d only ever arrived (and departed the next morning) there in the dark, and seeing its quirky charm in daylight made it feel like a whole new place. We tied up at the yacht club dock and were met by kind, welcoming sailors who made us feel right at home.

Another early departure—0340. And this leg… this was the one I’ll remember forever. We rounded the notorious Point Conception in a steady breeze and following seas. The California coastline glowed alongside us, and everything felt magical. Cassiopeia was in her groove, and so was I. That kind of sailing feeds my soul. It reminded me why I love being out there.

We reached Santa Barbara by sunset, grabbed dinner ashore, went to bed early and then—for the first time in days—woke up without an alarm. Just morning light, slow coffee, and the heartening feeling that we were almost home.

The final stretch down to Marina del Rey was a warm, glassy motor cruise, and nature showed up for us the whole way down. In no particular order: orcas (yes—real orcas!), a small shark gliding just under the surface, grey whales, dolphins leaping in the distance, massive fields of velella velella, and a freight train of sea lions crossing our path like a wild aquatic parade.

The sunrises were my favorite—soft light spreading across the horizon, Venus still hanging high in the sky. Cassiopeia, the constellation, always there in our wake. One of the things I love most about being at sea is how close to spirit I feel. Being surrounded by raw nature like that snaps me into reverence and presence like nothing else.

Our crew of three was solid. One of my sailing girlfriends came along to help. She is experienced, tidy, intuitive, and is always ready to lend a hand. It’s such a gift when no words are needed and the whole thing just flows. I was grateful for our rhythm.

And Brendan and his steady presence always helps me settle into the rhythm of a passage. He is so calm, competent, and quietly confident. He’s been sailing these waters since he was a kid, and it shows. With him, it’s more than experience, t’s something deep and embodied, like the sea is part of his DNA.

As we got closer to Marina del Rey, something in me started to relax. These familiar waters were soothing . I could feel a full-body exhale begin to happen. My heart got lighter with every mile we ticked off.

And after we docked, Monica turned to me and said, “You know it’s exactly two years since you left?” I just stood there for a moment, letting that hit me. A quiet wave of wonder and gratitude moved through me. It was a full circle.

Cassiopeia is home.

And in just a couple of weeks, I’ll be back too, returning to a place that’s held me and shaped me for more than two decades.

I’m coming back refreshed. Clearer. Stronger. With a deeper sense of myself.
I am grateful, centered and carrying everything these past two years have taught me.

Back at the Helm: Returning to Sailing (and to SoCal!)

After a long hiatus from regular sailing and racing due to a string of illnesses, injuries, and a much-needed 2 year sabbatical in the Bay Area, I’m finally making my way back—and I couldn’t be more thrilled. This April, Cassiopeia and I will return to Southern California, ready to continue our adventures on the water.

It’s been a journey—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Stepping away from sailing was never something I wanted, but my body had other plans. The pause, while painful, taught me a lot about myself. And now, I’m coming back with more perspective, more strength, and a deeper appreciation for the sea, for my boat, and for the people who make this sailing life so rich.

One of those people is my ride-or-die sailing sister, wing woman, and dear friend of over 20 years—Carrie Linskey Peters.

Carrie and I have shared countless adventures, races, and unforgettable days on the water. Together, we’ve double-handed PSSA and DRYC races and co-led our all-woman crew in the CYC Sunset Series—a blend of learning, laughter, and accomplishments I’ll always cherish. Her intuition and ease aboard a sailboat are next level. She might not always be able to clearly explain her tactical decisions mid-race—but trust me, she’s usually right on. She’s a not-so-secret weapon and a huge part of Cassiopeia’s success. We call her fire eyes for a reason!

I’m beyond excited to reunite with Carrie this summer aboard Cassiopeia as we jump back into racing—starting with double handing the DRYC Cat Harbor Layover Race as well as in the revival of DRYC’s iconic “Ladies Got Guts” race from Marina del Rey to Catalina, a nod to the bold women who started it and raced it in the 1970s.

Carrie has taught me so much about being a better driver, a racer (I used to HATE racing), and a more grounded human. “No higher, no lower” is her steady counsel—on the water and in life. I love her deeply and am endlessly grateful for our bond—rooted in sailing, personal growth, ridiculous laughter, cockpit dance parties and all the messy, beautiful lessons life has to offer.

Stay tuned—Cassiopeia is coming home, and this next chapter is just getting started!!!!

New Adventures Await

It has been a year and a half since I have posted anything here on my beloved sailing blog. That year and a half has been one of the most challenging epochs of my life. My health and wellness took a huge hit in a few ways over that time, and I was rendered unable to do much in my life, let alone sail my boat. I am extremely grateful to be feeling better and slowly getting back out on the water. I am so happy to be able to turn my attention once again to my sailing dreams.

Once of these dreams has been to keep Cassiopeia in the Bay Area for a while to seek new adventure and experience. Thanks to my boyfriend, that dream has become a reality.

We had a perfect weather window in which to make our voyage, and we took as much time as we could afford so that my recovering body and I could get some semblance of sleep along the way. We took 4 days to make the trip, stopping in Santa Barbara for a day and night (to avoid weather), and Morro Bay and Monterey for a couple of four-hour naps (never seeing the light of day). We rounded the dreaded Pt. Conception on a blissfully calm day, and the only wind of note that we experienced was for a few hours just after we rounded Pt. Sur.

The trip was physically exhausting for me, but equally rejuvenating for my spirit. Even though we never actually sailed, being on the water again brought me back into myself like nothing else possibly could have……the sheer majesty of the California coastline, the full moon lighting our way, the dramatic sunrises and sunsets, being surrounded by whales and other sea life…. All of it brought me to my knees in gratitude.

I want to thank Brendan for his company, support and expertise on this journey. It is not one I will soon forget!

And now…..we get to enjoy all that the San Francisco Bay has to offer!

Three Bridge Fiasco!

The San Francisco Bay Singlehanded Sailing Society’s Three Bridge Fiasco is infamous. I have been intrigued over the years by all of the stories I have heard of the hundreds of boats on San Francisco Bay trying to navigate an unprescribed course around three bridges (or their neighboring marks) in unpredictable and often painfully light conditions.

I was excited as always to be doublehanding with my boyfriend, Brendan on his boat, Siren. Siren is a Santa Cruz 33, and is one of my secret boat crushes (don’t tell Cassiopeia!). We headed out of Richardson Bay at around 0830 on a perfect winter’s day, surrounded by dramatic and captivating beauty that only San Francisco Bay can deliver. Every time I have the opportunity to sail up there, I seem to fall more and more in love with the varied conditions and jaw dropping beauty of that enchanted place.

I was at the helm as we approached the starting area near Golden Gate YC. As I laid eyes on the hundreds of boats circling the area, I felt so nervous that my stomach jumped up into my throat. I had never been on the water with this many boats in close quarters before, and it was startling to me. As we tacked around with them jockeying for our starting position, I was heartened however, by the palpable competence of all of these sailors as they danced skillfully and calmly with us. Having Brendan at the helm was doubly comforting, because there is absolutely non one with whom I feel safer on a sailboat. HIs peaceful confidence instills the same in me.

Part of the challenge and fun of this race, is that there is no set course, only marks around which one must pass. Direction and order in which you do this is up to you. We decided to head to Treasure Island first, which may not have been the best choice in the end, as it took us over an hour to round the island due to light flukey wind and strong currents, but we finally made it.

We sailed almost all the way to our second mark at Red Rock, but by then we were drifting and decided to retire and head back to Sausalito. Only a handful of boats finished that day, but it was wonderful to be out on the water all day in that wonderful place nonetheless. I was also grateful as always for time on the water with Brendan and Siren!

A Magical Day on the Water

PSSA Ship Rock Race turned into a Catalina adventure

 Most days on the water slay me, but this one took me by surprise with its unexpected majesty. Perhaps it was the fact that I hadn’t been out alone on my boat in quite a while, or perhaps it was that I have been in a bit of a funk, or maybe it was simply the pure magic of this day on the water. Whatever the reason, my spirit feels renewed, and I am grateful. 

 I left the dock in Marina Del Rey at 0945 am during a Tsunami warning. This sounds dramatic, but the only effects apparent in my marina were dramatic tide level changes (which was admittedly freaky), but I felt safe. The Coast Guard recommended heading out the sea if possible, and that is just what I did. To be honest, I was going to do that anyhow, but it felt good to be supported in my plans by the higher ups. The morning was rainy and a bit grey, and debris littered the marina as I made my way out past the breakwater. As I hoisted my mainsail and pointed my boat seaward, that feeling started creeping in…the one where I feel alive, whole and fully in my power. 

 I started out the day feeling disappointed because I was supposed to be racing doublehanded with my boyfriend, but COVID had other plans. As Cassiopeia and I journeyed out through roiling post tsunami surges towards the starting line, however, I began to feel the blessing of being there alone. It was perfect. My heart gave a little start, as it always does, as I approached my compadres gathering for the start. There is something so special about seeing and waving to all of my friends who are also out there seeking challenge and adventure in shorthanded sailing.

 The wind was negligible, at the start, and the lighter boats left us heavier ones in their almost imperceptible wakes. Even pointing in the correct direction was a feat, and the lot of us at one point or another were either spinning in slow circles, unable to steer, or moving backwards. At one point I heard a fellow racer’s laugh bellowing across the glassy water as I looked back to see him heading in the wrong direction after one of these moments.

 In my mind, I knew I wouldn’t finish, with many miles ahead of me and a boat speed of 1-3 knots, but I was captivated by the magic of the day and stayed out on the water to soak it all in. Even though there wasn’t much wind, there was always something to do to coax a little more speed out of Cassiopeia. Even in these mild conditions, sailing calls me into the present moment like nothing else. Pure attention to each subtle shift in the wind, and the reaction of my vessel is a moving meditation for me.

 As I slowly made my way towards Catalina, I felt like I had been swept away in the most beautiful love affair. The changeable conditions and atypical wind direction painted a day so ethereal that I was totally captivated; from a pod of whales surfacing out of a glassy sea about 20 feet away from me, to gentle rain showers christening our journey, to extreme wind shifts and velocity changes, and finally to a jaw dropping sunset, I was awestruck. 

 The racing didn’t matter to me at all, it was the experience of being out there on the expanse of the bay, surrounded by so many of nature’s wonders that made me feel alive. This is what makes me flourish and thrive, and I was reminded why I love being on the sea alone. The opportunity for oneness with nature and spirit is unparalleled when I am out there alone with no distractions and only myself to rely on. It is one of the greatest blessings of my life!

I stayed out until the sun set and the afterglow faded into a moonlit night, and then I started my engine and headed into the Isthmus so I could wake up the next day greeted by one of my favorite places on earth!

A Shout out to my brave friend, Whitall Stokes!

Today is Thanksgiving. As with many families, the traditional ways in which my family and I have come together at this time, have been rendered impossible by Covid. On top of that, I have been isolating for 2 weeks, due to bizarre symptoms and the weighty responsibility of possessing such symptoms in the times of a global pandemic. Therefore, my 53rd birthday and my 53rd Thanksgiving have been “unusual” to say the least. So, I sit here alone in my apartment contemplating life, and fantasizing about my upcoming sailing adventures, which include Catalina trips and racing in the PSSA winter series . Cassiopeia and I will be getting our sh*t together in the next two months so that we can get out there into the wild blue after a year of tending to family obligations.

One of my daily rituals in my solitude, is to track my dear friend Whitall Stokes. He is a little over two weeks into his attempt to circumnavigate the world, solo, non-stop and unassisted, aboard his Open 50, Sparrow. I was blessed to be able to be in San Francisco to see him off as he sailed under the Golden Gate and into his great adventure. What a special time!

Today I had the pleasure of emailing with him. He is facing so many challenges right now, not the least of which is beating into high winds. No matter his challenges though, he always finds the beauty, which is one of the many reasons we connect so deeply.

I am toasting him today, and every day! He is out there in the big blue, chasing his dreams and challenging himself. Go Whitall!!

If you want to know more about Whitall and his adventure, click HERE.

If you would like to track his progress, click HERE.

‘Lectronic Latitude published a great little article about Whitall’s adventure. Check it out HERE.

My intrepid friend and I on the dock before his departure on November 8. Photo by Christine Weaver, Latitude 38 (on my camera)

Whitall’s position on Thanksgiving day, 2020

Father's Day

Yesterday was Father’s day. I have never been a fan of these “holidays” (to me, every day is Father’s, Mother’s and love day!), but yesterday it felt more significant to me. Maybe because I was inundated with all of the Father’s day energy around my life and on social media, which reminded me that for the first time in my life, on Father’s day, I didn’t have a dad.  

I haven’t written in this blog since I left last year to go and live with my father to help care for him in the last months of his life. He passed away on February 14, 2020.  It was one of the greatest honors of my life to be by his side in his last months and especially when he took his last breath on this earthly plane. My heart broke in a million pieces that night, but I have also been flooded with gratitude for the gift of having had this amazing, dynamic man as my dad for 52 years.

Fast-forward 4 months, and here I am, back in my life finally, with a place of my own again, in the midst of a pandemic, and riding the twisty roller coaster of grief.  During my long absence from my life here, Cassiopeia sat patiently awaiting my return. She has not missed a beat, and is being patient with me as I get my sailing chops back up, and find my sea legs again. The last couple of years brought some physical challenges for me, so on top of being rusty, it has been a journey to get my strength and mobility back up to speed. I am getting there!

Yesterday, I decided that the best way to honor my Pop, and also myself, was to head out on a sail. Apart from going to Catalina a couple of times, I hadn’t done a solo sail in a long time. It was a beautiful day, and just frisky enough that I took a reef early on. My girl is a powerhouse, and I have learned that reefing conservatively is the best recipe, especially if I am alone. We tacked away from the Sunday traffic and got in our groove on a starboard tack, honking along at 7-8 knots. We headed south and found ourselves on a perfect course for my favorite island getaway. I seriously almost kept on going, but after a couple of hours decided to turn back to my slip and my life on land. As I sailed out to sea, I spoke with my Pop. I thanked him for the gift of sailing and for my adventurous spirit. I asked him if he was ok with my sail trim and general state of affairs aboard my boat, and also shared my heart. I like to think he was there with me as I ate my smoked oysters and toasted him with a cold beer. He was the king of weird boat food, so I thought it appropriate to have a little snack in his honor. As I turned back for Marina Del Rey, the wind started to mellow to about 10-11 knots, so I shook out my reef and reached my way home. I was graced by tons of dolphins, seagulls and pelicans…perfect companions for my dad and me on the home stretch. I took the helm for a good long time, and sat in his (and my) favorite spot on the leeward rail. I imagined all of the times throughout my life that we sailed together in silence, with no need for words. Our unspoken mutual love and appreciation for each other and the energy of the boat and the sea was enough for us. 

When I got back to the slip, I put on some tunes and commenced the ritual of putting my boat away. For me, one of the greatest joys of boat ownership and sailing is puttering around the boat. As I methodically tended to all that needed to be done, I could hear my dad’s commentary from all of our times over my lifetime doing the same on his boats. He loved puttering, and oddly, puttering on my boat is the time that I feel the most like he is with me. He would always say that there is nothing better than messing about in boats, his nod to the famous line from The Wind in the Willows: 

 "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats."

 I will always carry him with me, especially as I careen over the sea with the wheel in my hand and the breeze in my face. I can feel him in me in those moments as if he is looking out of my own eyes. I always knew from the look on his face as he steered his vessel, that we shared the exact same deep satisfaction and bliss that can only come from looking out over the horizon from the helm of a sailboat.  

 I love you Pop!

Sailing out of Santa Monica Bay

Reaching home

Team Cassiopeia!!

I haven’t posted anything since June, but that does not mean that this past summer was not chock-full of sailing. In fact I think that is actually the reason I haven’t posted. Now that I am up in the mountains reflecting on an amazing “season” of sailing and racing, I thought I would share about what my amazing team accomplished this season. You have read about them before, but this year everyone stepped up their game and we were on fire beyond my wildest dreams!

 When forming Team Cassiopeia in 2018, I had one mission: to foster an environment of learning and support. I was adamant that here would be no yelling, no egos, and no unkind criticism. This wasn’t too hard with a group of women, but I was dead serious about it, and the ladies supported my mission. The skill level on our team ranged from our tactician, who is a life long racer (and all around badass), to me, an experienced sailor with little buoy racing experience, to experienced race crew, to relatively new sailors with no racing experience. We all showed up honestly with our strengths and our areas that needed nurturing and growth. 

 Our first season in the 2018 Sunset Series was a steady upward trajectory of learning and honing our flow as a team. Every single member of the team consistently gave their all, and put their egos aside to absorb whatever new skills or information would make them a better sailor and crew. There was something new to learn on every race. This includes me, for I did not have any experience at the helm in races like this before last year, and I had a lot to learn. 

 As we entered our second season of the Sunset Series, we were becoming a well-oiled machine. As such, we were able to push ourselves harder and improve individually and as a team. Every woman brought her all from day one, through every race. The seamless blend of tenacity and humility of each of these women, is what earned us a first place in our class in the 2019 Sunset Series, and 2nd place overall (of both cruising A and B). I am so grateful to each woman on our team, and to our mentors and fellow racers who pushed us to always reach higher. Experiencing this extraordinary group of women grow into the competitive team we are today has been one of the greatest joys and sources of pride in my life. These women are my soul sisters and my confidantes. We are so blessed to not only sail and race together, but to share our lives and hearts! Love reigns supreme aboard Cassiopeia, and I sincerely believe that that is our recipe for success!

A special shout out goes to our tactician, Carrie Linskey Peters, without whom we would not have achieved all that we have in the past 2 years. Her expertise and unique coaching methods are the driving force behind our success on the racecourse. She calls tactics like nobody’s business and coaches the entire team with love, encouragement, and just the right amount of ass kicking!. I know that I am a much better helmswoman and racer because of her. I would sail anywhere with her.

A little history on this team (have I mentioned how much I love them all????!!!!)…..

Tactician:

Carrie Linskey Peters grew up racing dinghies in Marina Del Rey at Cal Yacht Club. She also had the opportunity to race side by side with her Dad, Jim Linskey, a well known rigger and experienced racer, on many larger race boats. Her mad skills come from all of her dinghy experience, and also from absorbing knowledge from her dad and other racing legends around Marina Del Rey. She went on to race at UC Irvine. Though she took a hiatus from sailing to raise her kiddos, she has not skipped a beat! Sailing and racing is in her veins! There is no-one like Carrie…she just knows things in her bones, and as she directs us, we all absorb this innate knowledge and are able to grow exponetially as sailors and racers.

Lara Jacques was our original tactician, and we miss her dearly. She is a badass and has so much knowledge about sailing and racing. Together we conquered our fears about stepping up our game as we launched team Cassiopeia in 2018. I am forever grateful to her and cherish her beyond words!

Genoa Trimmers:

Monica Viera jumped into sailing by buying a boat. I met her at 5 years ago at the inspection of her lovely vessel (a Hunter 31 named Ixchel). Since then, Monica has pushed herself and has become a very capable skipper and an extraordinary crew aboard Cassiopeia. Her strength is unmatched, and she can trim in my huge Genny like nobody’s business!! Watching her grow as a sailor has been a great honor and pleasure.

Paula Paige is relatively new to sailing, but you would never know that, because it seems to be something that was in her all along. She understands and executes the nuances of sail trim with the skill of someone who has done it for years. Paula will be a boat owner soon, and I have no doubt will be singlehanding all over before we know it!

Main:

Gabriella Dorsen has been called the swiss army knife of our boat. She and I have sailed and cruised many miles together, and I would sail with her anywhere. She has a knack for fixing things, and can adapt to any role on the boat with ease. She has become quite a main trimmer, and an integral part of our crew. We always feel her absence when she cannot race with us.

Foredeck:

Debbi Juster came to us with racing experience on other boats. She is the oldest member of our crew, but you would never know it, becasue she is stronger than most of us and moves around like a woman half her age. She has a wonderful attitude, and always has a joke and lots of love to share.

Jana Davis was finally able to join our team permanently this past season! We are so glad. She keeps us focused and brings lots of foredeck experience and all around racing knowledge. She offers a fresh and thoughtful perspective that helps me see a bigger picture.

Roamer and Tactician assistant:

Robin Mohilner brings joy and lightness to our crew. Her infectious laugh and enthusiasm lifts us all up. She has been asked to fill many roles, and always does so with joy and willingness to learn.

Cat Harbor Layover :: Double-handing with Carrie Linskey Peters

I have been hearing about the Cat Harbor Layover race for years, though for some reason, I had never done it until this year. It is the 4th and 5th race in the William Berger, William Stein race series put on by Del Rey Yacht Club. My crew weren’t available for the race, which gave Carrie and I a perfect opportunity to double-hand in preparation for all of PSSA’s summer races. 

We set off on Friday morning, very excited about the weekend, and pretty much on top of our game. I felt prepared and we were both excited to get out there and push ourselves. We would have done really well on that 1st race if I hadn’t messed up (UNDERSTATEMENT) our start. I misunderstood the order of starts and thought our class was separated, so we missed starting by 5 minutes with all of our competitors. We didn’t let it get us down though, and even managed to pass a couple of them along the way to the west end of Catalina Island. As the day went on, the wind started to die, which made the finish very elusive and much like the end of a rainbow that we would never reach. When we were a mile from the finish the wind shut down altogether and we were literally drifting, tweaking our sails to capture what little wind there was. That’s when we decided a cockpit dance party was in order. We had one big boat on our hip drifting along, and someone in front of us who had already retired due to the lack of wind. Turns out dancing in the cockpit was just the ticket, because we were miraculously able to pull ahead of the big boat behind us and finish the race.  By the time we got to Cat Harbor, it was after 8:30pm and we were beat. Did I mention I brought my dog along? Well I did, and she was dying for a pee, and we had to scramble to get the dinghy inflated, our boat put away, and our food ready to take to shore . By the time I finally did get food, I was” hangry” as all get out, but with a little burger in me, I started to feel myself (thanks Carrie for feeding me)! It was fun to see everyone at the DRYC facility, though we were so late, that we only caught the tail end. Which was fine with us, because we were BEAT and our bunks were calling our names!!

Sunday morning was beautiful, and none of us wanted to leave. Catalina can cast a spell like that for sure. We readied ourselves despite our reticence, and what ensued was one of the best days sailing I have ever had! We had 2 knots of wind at the start, and this time we were starting in a split class. Thank God because ….18 big boats floating around the line with little maneuverability would have been an adventure to say the least. We ghosted across the line with the first few boats and set our gennaker right away. As we did this, the wind came up and we started scooting along. The rest of the day was basically a drag race all the way home, rolling people then being rolled back, trying to catch the Rascals (team Rascal) ahead of us. It was a blast. We flew the gennaker until we finished, and that sail proved to be very versatile as we had her everywhere form a close reach to a broad reach, and her performance never waivered. With only two of us in the boat, we both had to be on top of our game all day. There was barely time or a way to eat. I steered most of the way, while Carrie played our main like a boss, and did a million other things (including feeding me AGAIN). I was able to trim the Gennaker while I steered, and we kept Cassiopeia moving out! By the time we finished, we were both in a state of utter exhaustion. The last time I felt that tired was in the middle of the Pacific. Double handing in these races is challenging in itself, but, because we aren’t permitted to use our autopilot at all, as we can in the PSSA races, there is no rest. We sure felt it, but were both so happy and fulfilled out there! I am so grateful for Carrie and her expertise and for keeping me laughing!. Our teamwork is seamless, and we compliment each other so well. I cannot wait for more races this summer!

My Badass New Friends! Solo Sailors Unite!!

One of my favorite things in life has always been connecting with people. The internet and social media have made it so easy to do this in a much broader way, and for that I am so grateful. This is why I will never quit Facebook or Instagram, because through these platforms, I have met so many amazing humans who have enriched my life.

Ever since I started this blog, and especially since I participated in the Singlehanded Transpac, I have been passionate about connecting with other solo sailors. I am especially excited when they also happen to be women (mainly because, in my opinion, there aren’t enough of us out there doing this stuff - compared to men)!

I recently connected with two amazing young women who are out exploring the world on their boats. They are both singlehanded cruisers who have heeded their soul’s call out over the horizon into the unknown. Through serendipitous events, and social media happenstance, I was able to first host Elana (and her first mate who happens to be one of my sailing heroes- see below), at my yacht club as she passed through Marina Del Rey, then meet up with BOTH Elana and Rachel in San Diego. We met on Elanas’ beloved boat, Windfola (a 1985 Sabre 34) for an evening of connection and sharing. These two amazing women are much younger than I am, but that did not stop us from feeling like sisters in our mutual, and often inexplicable love of solo sailing, adventure seeking, and most importantly, soul searching. Our conversations were deep and meaningful, and I know I left them better for our time together.

Rachel and I were there to see Elana off on her next adventure, a passage from San Diego to the South Pacific and then New Zealand. I am in awe of the grit and determination of each of these young women, but mostly I am in awe of their wisdom and willingness to face themselves so honestly.  

I will be following them both (see links below), and I hope you will too. Elana has some exciting options on her blog for you to follow her and support her journey. I am grateful to have met these brave souls, who like me, are out there searching for their truths by following their heart and soul’s calling.

Fair winds to you both, my lovely, badass friends! I love you! I cannot wait until our paths cross again!

 PS….one of the synchronistic bonuses of connecting with Elana when we first met in Marina Del Rey, is that one of my sailing heroes, Synthia Petroka was helping her deliver her boat down to San Diego. Synthia did the Singlehanded Transpac 10 years before I did, and is a racing legend up in San Francisco. It was so wonderful to get to know her!

PSS….My friend Robin, another solo sailor was in the mix and ended up being a huge part our DRYC nights and helped in hosting Elana and Windfola at DRYC!

Elana and Zia (her cute ass dog) aboard Windfola: Peregrina Sails

Rachel , Bear and Zita (her 2 gorgeous doggies) aboard Coconut : Salty Señorita

A Step Back into My Joy

I just returned from a soul-soothing trip to Catalina for 5 days and 5 nights. Catalina island has become a sanctuary for my heart and soul over the years. Whenever I need to escape the energy of the city, I am grateful to be able to sail 28 miles across the channel and into her magical realms. I am a country girl at heart, and I grew up surrounded by nature and wide open spaces and that is always where I need to return when I get off-kilter, or city life starts to get the best of me. The ocean provides deep solace, but I need  earth energy to balance it out sometimes. Thankfully, Catalina has the best of both, reminiscent of my childhood home of Hawaii.

The day I left for the island, I was supposed to be racing (really, finishing a race), but I had to make a different decision. I have not been feeling 100% for some time, and I had to admit to myself that I was not up for it. The last two attempts to go offshore, and the resulting sea sickness, mixed with life’s challenges, have been taking their toll, and I knew it would’ve been too much. To admit this was very hard for me, but I also knew that it was essential to my well-being. The last two and a half years since my epic trip to Hawaii have turned out to be  among the most challenging of my life. They have marked the threshold into the next phase of healing some old wounds, for once and for all. My trip, and the heartbreaking loss of my dear Haunani, collided with my mid-life passage which has provided an opening in my being for this healing. It has been HARD, but I see the opportunity, and I am very grateful.

 Sailing is my solace, but lately it has started to feel more like a push I have started to feel the need to prove something, or do it a certain way. So instead of racing last weekend I returned to the sheer joy of sailing. I am so glad, because in allowing this, I was able to dig down and soothe some parts of myself that have needed love and tenderness and NOT pushing and proving.

The journey started with a night in magical Emerald bay, where I ran into, and got to share a meal with some of my PSSA compadres who had just finished the race. I then motored around to Cat Harbor early the next morning, where I moored for a couple of nights. The last two nights were spent in Moonstone Cove, where Cassiopeia was the lone vessel in the expanse of two mooring fields. It was beyond peaceful and soul soothing. My sweet soul sister Gabi joined me for the sail home on Thursday, where we had 17-22 knot winds providing a lively journey……with NO sea sickness thanks to Sturgeron!!

I have never seen the island so green and resplendent with wildflowers. Every place I looked seemed more magnificent than the last. There was hardly a soul around, and it felt like I had the place to myself. The island company offers a week for the price of two nights in the winter, so no one had to twist my arm to take the extra days to revel in it all. I took long, aimless walks with my Gracie, and also got to spend some time with friends. I ate simply and drank lots of tea on deck. I read, wrote, played my guitar, sang and just sat still. It was pure magic.

I became more skilled at beaching my dinghy alone (for dog trips to shore in the remote coves) with only a few of my famous beach wipeouts as a warm up. I spent my first night ever, alone in a remote place with no other boats (besides the middle of the ocean that is). I had 4/5 successful solo mooring pick-ups. And most importantly, I was able to emotionally and physically decompress in a way I haven’t in many months. The quiet and peace of the island seeped into my bones and soothed what ailed. As with every trip to that magical land, I started counting my days until the next trip before I even left.

I am eternally grateful for the blessing of my boat, and the beautiful sanctuary of Catalina Island which is always beckoning from right across our back yard!

My Aborted Qualifier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

even feeling sick, this view brings me so much peace

Almost to the West End, moving out!

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

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

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

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

Another Bishop Rock Race Aborted

This was the 2nd time I have attempted to set sail alone for Bishop Rock in PSSA’s race of the same name. The first time was three years ago aboard Haunani, and a few days ago it was aboard my spirited girl, Cassiopeia. When I re-read my post  about my aborted attempt to do the race three years ago, I was hit hard by how much has changed since then. The most obvious difference is my boat. To say that Cassiopeia and  Haunani  are different animals, would be a gross understatement. Cassiopeia is a powerhouse, not unlike an eager young thoroughbred at the starting gates. Haunani was more like a gracefully aging quarter horse, solid, dependable and sure to take care of you when things got squirrely. The other huge change is me. I am a much more competent sailor than I was three years ago. My threshold is higher, and my skills are more developed and ingrained. It feels good to acknowledge that, but since I am committed to always learning and growing, this does not mean I can sit back on my laurels either. It instead means that I am constantly upping the game. Friday afternoon did not disappoint in that department. We had 22-25 knot winds with seven foot swells at the start. It was lively to say the least!

 As the race day approached, I felt very prepared and centered. All lists had been gone through and all safety preparations and provisioning carefully attended to. Cassiopeia and I were ready, and I had just the right amount of nervous energy flowing through me to keep me sharp. This race was to be an important shakedown for Cassiopeia and me.  It would have been our first trip offshore (past Catalina), and would have served as a qualifier for the Guadalupe Island race in March. As I wrote about in my last post, we had a lot to do to get ready, and it was all go in order to get it done. One of the things I did, was to have a new inner stay with a furling staysail installed. I was very excited to try it out, and Mary Ellen was literally working until the moment I pushed off the dock to get it done.

AT the 11th hour, the staysail was up, and I released my dock lines, and pulled out of my slip. I was backed in, so this was not the usual routine. As I pulled out, the wind that was steadily coming up pushed us fast toward the boats on the other side of the basin. I had to bust out some serious Austin Powers moves to keep from hitting any of my neighbors. And so the snafus began…

So, I shake that off, and head out of the basin taking a few deep breaths. I engage my autopilot (remember I just put my NKE autopilot computer on this boat) and head forward to remove my fenders. I cruise back to the helm to adjust the direction of the boat a tad to continue my routine of putting lines and things away. Well, the autopilot has other ideas, and doesn’t disengage. I am heading straight towards docked boats and I could not get control of my helm. I throttled back and tried again, and by the grace of God, something shifted and the clutch disengaged. I have my helm again. OK, more deep breaths. It’s ok, these things happen, and we take them in stride and move forward. I see all the PSSA boats heading out, and I feel a sense of excitement and camaraderie as I always do at the start of these races. I turn the corner into the main channel and set about hoisting my mainsail…something I have done hundreds of times with ease and flow. I head forward to jump the halyard and get about 2 pulls in when I realize that all of the lines at my mast are tangled. Dammit! In the flurry of activity on my boat in the 11th hour, trying to get the staysail working, I hadn’t remembered to check it all after the mainsail (with its new 3rd reef) was re-installed. I assumed it was all as it usually is, and THAT was a huge mistake. It took me three tries and mad untangling to get everything dialed in and get the sail up.

I ended up putting a reef in as I did this, because by this time the wind was up to 18 knots, and Cassiopeia likes to be reefed in anything over 15, especially when I am alone. No problem. I am the reefing queen, I can reef my sail in about 4 minutes flat most of the time. Well, not this time. The reefing lines were criss-crossed and my usual tidy beautiful reef looked like crap, and it was not right. By this time I am almost to the breakwater, and as I pass its protective mass, I am immediately greeted by the 7 foot swells of the day, and the now 20+ knot wind. I set about re-rigging my reef lines. That’s ok, shit happens….deep breaths. As Cassiopeia hobby horsed dramatically on the swells, I tried to get ahold of the lines on the bobbing boom to re-tie them and straighten it all out. I finally got it done, but my reef still was not up to par, and as all the other boats passed me with their tidy perfect reefs in place, I felt so annoyed with myself for not double checking these lines either. I assumed again that everything would be as I usually leave it. Now I am sweating and swearing and trying to shake it all off. I am under power still, with no headsail, and in this wind and swell it is a bit of a push to get out to the starting area.

As we make our way out there, I have a talk with myself and remind myself to forgive myself my mistakes and oversights, shake it off and move forward. Be in the moment! I arrive at the starting area and start the zig zagging and maneuvering that everyone goes through in preparation to head out. I got centered and rolled out my staysail. It was perfect! A perfect sail for this wind, and I was making use of the self-tacker that is on my boat, which made maneuvering amongst the racers in these conditions so easy. YES! I was so excited! We got in the groove and made our last tack to line up for the start, and SMACK. The staysail fell to the deck in a dramatic collapse. WHAT????? Deep breath number 497….thats ok, we can use the Genoa reefed, and it will all be ok. So, I set my autopilot, careful to choose a trajectory that does not include crossing paths with any of the 15 other boats tacking around me, and head up to the foredeck . The bow was soaked and pounding, and as I tied up the sail to get it out of the way, I took multiple face shots of sea water, and was quickly soaked to the bone. Thank goodness I was sweaty and hot, despite the now 22-25 knots of wind. It felt kind of good, actually. I scooted my way back to the cockpit across wet, slippery decks and heaving boat. Ahhh…this is what it’s all about! Even the challenges are exhilarating! I looked at my watch. It was time to start and I wasn’t near the line. I had no headsail up. Shit, ok, let’s head to the line and roll out the Genny. Sounds easy right? Well, there is a reason I wanted a smaller headsail, because that Genoa in wind like this is a nightmare to deploy, especially alone. I furled her out to a suitable reef point, and headed for the start line. The sail was flogging (think dollars flying out the door) and I was doing my danmdest to trim her in WHILE steering to jockey myself into position to cross the stern of the rabbit boat.  It was what I like to call a good old fashioned cluster f**k. I have attached a video of this moment below, taken by my friend. It was also posted on social media earning some commentary about my sail trim. All I can say to that is that when you’re sailing alone you do things at a different pace, and you also pick your battles. Don’t worry, the sail was trimmed shortly after this was taken :-).

I am wet, sweaty and bruised by this time, and most of the fleet is ahead of me by a long shot. I get the sail trimmed and we start moving out! Yes!! Cassiopeia is flying through the swells at almost 8 knots, and I can sit and breathe for a moment. It is more like panting, but who is splitting hairs here? I chug some much needed water, and survey the scene. The boat is under control, and the autopilot is steering her well. I am fine, despite my disheveled state. As I survey the boat, I see my spinnaker bag dangling over the leeward bow. I had rigged the spinnaker and lashed the bag up forward the day before, when the wind predictions were not as they actually were in this moment, and again, in my haste to leave and help with last minute rigging stuff, I didn’t think to remove it and stow it down below. So now, the bag is hanging on by its clips and lashing and filling with water. One clip has already torn off the bag and I have to get it back on deck before the sail comes out of the bag and causes more mayhem. I could tack to make it so the bag is on the windward side, but if I do that I will have had to furl the Genny (NO THANK YOU) because of the inner stay. SO I have to haul it out as it is. I head the boat almost into the wind to slow her down, clip on and go onto the foredeck. It is NOT fun, to say the least. I am slipping to leeward, taking huge face shots and my tether is stuck somewhere. I try to pull on the bag anyhow, but I am sure it weighs over 100 pounds with all the water inside. It is impossible to budge. I grab my spinnaker halyard and hook it onto the bag and start hoisting. Thank GOD for the winch that I just installed on my mast, because without it, I would never have gotten that sail out of the water. I crank and crank, and finally, in what feels like an eternity, I get it on the deck. I secure it in a better spot and head aft again. Now I am really wet, starting to get cold and I am shivering. I get the boat moving again, and she loves it. But now, the fleet is so far ahead of me that I have no chance of catching them. I know I have to get out past San Clemente before a certain time to avoid being becalmed in an approaching high pressure system, and I feel defeated and disheartened.

 Was the boat under control? Yes. Could I have gone on? Yes. Was everything ok? Yes. But I was mentally and physically exhausted by this time, and I was only a couple of hours in. I started to feel queasy and even worse, dizzy, and everything felt impossible. I cried. I yelled. I thought about it. Finally, I closed my eyes and tuned into my intuition, and asked what I should do. The answer was clear as a bell. Go home, regroup and try again later when you are more centered. I called the race committee, retired, and headed Cassiopeia for home. It was a bittersweet decision, but it felt right. We flew back to the marina at 8 knots, surfing big swells giving me a chance to clear my head and respect myself for my decision. I pulled into my slip with a sense of relief ……..and then disbelief, because the wind was so strong that I had to keep the boat in gear to even jump off and get a dock line onto a cleat. My final test by mother nature that day at least got a laugh out of me, and not much more than a bow scuff on Cassiopeia.

It took me a long time to clean up the mayhem of my boat after those few hours. Being exhausted didn’t help my cause, but the routine of it was grounding, and by the time I left Cassiopeia all nestled in her slip, I felt at peace with the day.

 I spent the following day fixing all that went awry, going through my rigging and set up with a fine toothed comb. I hoisted my main and reefed it in the slip at all three points, making sure the lines were clear, I checked and double checked the runs of all of the other lines, and helped Mary Ellen fix my staysail furler. I went for a practice sail and all is in order again. I will leave Saturday morning to go offshore again, this time on my own, and not in a race. I have to qualify for Guadalupe Island by sailing 125nm solo. I am looking forward to heading out in a more centered frame of mind and with a boat that is set up exactly as I like it. I have nothing to prove except to myself, and that is one of my biggest lessons in solo sailing.

 Here are a few takeaways from Friday’s adventures:

1.     ALWAYS double check everything before leaving the dock. Don’t ASSUME!

2.     Take 100% ownership for everything on the boat, even if someone else was onboard fixing stuff.

3.     Practice, practice, practice, especially on extreme weather days.

4.     Always trust my gut.

5.     Know when to push and when to step back….again, trust my gut!

 5 boats out of 16 finished the race, so I was not alone, but I am quite sure I was the first to tap out.

This would have been my course for the day. 165nm

Yes, I KNOW my Genoa is flogging...I had just deployed it and was rushing forward to trim it as I started. Video by my friend Ray.

mayhem in the cockpit after returning

My compadres’ tracks about half way into the race

Following a Thread :: Why do I love to go to sea alone

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

-William Stafford

This poem has always resonated deeply with me. It has actually done more than that; it has provided me with validation and understanding. I have innately trusted the thread since I was a young woman, even though I had no words for what it was back then. I have faithfully followed it’s winding pull (albeit at times, kicking and screaming), trusting that whatever happened along the way would make perfect sense one day, or at the very least, serve an important purpose. The GPS track of my solo journey 2500 miles across the Pacific in 2016 is the thread making itself visible for a flash. Other times it is not quite so recognizable. When I think back on my life and some things I so confidently and erroneously declared as truth, I am just a day sailor stands out as one. I used to repeat this phrase like a mantra when asked if I had any big sailing goals. It goes to show that sometimes there exist truths in our souls that we are not quite ready to see. This is why I trust the thread. I am amazed at how it has always shown me the way. It continues to be a silent filament holding firm on its course, an invisible web of a life map, MY life map.

Even thinking back as recently as 2 years ago, just after completing the SHTP, getting asked if I would ever do that trip again would get an are you f***ing kidding me  look. Within a couple months of that however, I would respond with “maybe when I’m 60”. And here I am at 51, just two and a half years after the finish of that race, thinking about sailing solo again across the Pacific again in 2020. It seems that I can feel the thread pulsating in my hand more than ever now as I pay deep attention to the calling I feel. 

I feel alive when I trust the path of my life. Solo offshore sailing has become and inextricable part of my path now, and the call to sail farther, dig deeper and push myself in new ways is loud and clear. Sometimes the thread is like this. It can go from subtle hints to billboard sized flashes of truth without warning. There are times that I get overwhelmed and remind myself that I could just relax back into the comfort of being only a day sailor, (or a Catalina Island adventurer). That would be pleasant and easy. It would not quell the stirring in my soul to seek new horizons though. My drive has gotten more specific lately. Someone asked me if I wanted to double-hand the next race, and my answer was an emphatic NO. This is not to say I wont double-hand a race again, or sail with friends, but it is confirmation that sailing alone and challenging myself in this way is what calls me out over the horizon. I have been voraciously reading books written by solo sailors describing their journeys, looking for kindred souls or some kind of explanation for this fierce calling of mine. In my pursuit, I have certainly found kindred spirits, but what I am learning is that our calls to go to sea alone are unique. We can relate to one another, but we still sail on guided by our own inner compass, and in my case, the quest for answers to deep questions about who I really am without the energy of others near me.  As one of my favorite writers on solo offshore sailing, Christian Williams articulates: “something is out there that doesn’t have a name”. I suppose that is why I am driven to sail out over the horizon by myself…..in search of that something. We all have our own SOMETHING to find.

Offshore Prep :: Cassiopeia and I are almost ready!

There is a familiar sense of excitement bubbling up in me right now. Preparations have begun in earnest to get Cassiopeia and me ready to go offshore this winter leading up to our big trip to Hawaii in the 2020 Shaka Challenge. As much as Hawaii is a big goal, I am learning that singlehanding the Guadalupe Island race in March might trump it in intensity and personal challenge (or so I have been warned).  All warnings have been taken under advisement, and I am committed to doing it anyway……..typical ! The fire in my belly grows every day, as the reality of going offshore again becomes palpable. I have the drive to push myself and learn more deeply about what it takes to be out there alone. I am excited to feel Cassiopeia step up to a new challenge as well. After 2 1/2 years, I know her so well now, and I am finally ready to venture over the horizon with her as my steed.

PSSA’s famed Guadalupe Island race takes place every two years and is touted by almost every veteran I have talked to as a huge challenge, and one which they would think twice about undertaking again. It is 650nm and the course is from Marina Del Rey to Guadalupe Island, Mexico and back to Catalina Island. The run to Guadalupe is usually downwind, and can be quite pleasant. It is the beat back up the coast that is reputed to be a huge ass kicking. Over 300nm of upwind sailing at a time of year when huge winds are likely. Is it weird that I am actually excited for this?

Bishop Rock and Guadalupe Island are Category 2 and 1 offshore races, respectively, so I have a laundry list of items to check off in preparation. There will be an inspection of Cassiopeia to make sure that we are in compliance for each race. Most of the items are safety related, including a life raft, which thankfully, I already own. I’ll attach a list below to give an idea of what else is required. Needless to say, with 3 weeks left until Bishop Rock, I am in turbo project mode to get ready. Bishop Rock will be a great shakedown sail for Guadalupe Island in March. It is 165 nm round trip, straight out from Marina Del Rey and around the rock at the notorious Cortez bank and back to Catalina.

Given the challenging conditions I will likely be facing offshore, I have made some additions to boat. The fist thing I dealt with was my sail plan, with the expert support of my friend and longtime sailmaker, Oliver McCann, of UK Sailmakers. Oliver has been making my sails since 2004, and I trust him implicitly. Here’s what we decided: I am finally putting 3rd reef points in my mainsail. I am having a new furling Gennaker made for reaching (and ease of deployment), and I am also cutting down and re-purposing my 98% jib (that came with my boat) to be used with a furler on a semi permanent inner stay. This will help (especially upwind) when winds are high and I am unable to use my giant 140% Genoa. That genny is awesome, and I am able to reef it on its furler, but I have found that in higher wind (20+), it is more than a handful to reef, and I would rather have a smaller sail altogether. The inner stay will also serve as the stay for my storm jib if I should need it. 

My friend and rigger, Mary Ellen Rose is, as always, guiding me and installing all things rigging. To support my new sail plan, we are installing a Mariner furling system as the inner stay, which is an old but reliable system, and most importantly to me, can be retracted when not in use. There is a lot that goes along with the new sails, and Mary Ellen will be setting me up with all of the rigging necessary for the additions. A little side note about Mary Ellen: She is a true badass, and a huge inspiration to me. She has been a rigger in the marina for a very long time, and started at a time when women riggers were not the norm (they still aren’t, by the way, at least not around here). She has held her own in a male dominated field, and is a wealth of information. She will never lead you astray and is always looking for practical ways to achieve your goals. I highly recommend her. Every time we work together, I learn so much. Not only is she a badass rigger, but she is a wonderful human being, and I adore her!

Last but not least on my list of super cool additions to Cassiopeia, is a Hydrovane self-steering vane. This vane is incredible and has a stellar reputation around the world. Its design is simple and powerful and will handily steer my big boat in all conditions without using any power. A very important feature for me is that it can also be used as an emergency rudder if needed. Category 1 races (Guadalupe Island and Hawaii) require an emergency rudder, so this amazing device kills 2 birds with one stone (I really hate that saying). Everyone I have talked to, and all of the reviews I have read, rave about the Hydrovane and it’s efficacy and dependability. I am very excited to try it out!  We are laying out the installation as I write this, and I should have it working by Bishop Rock. Beyond all this, I really only have one large project left (famous last words), which is to install the drive unit and brain of my NKE autopilot. Both of these projects are being headed up by Jerome Sammarcelli (the guy who roped me into all this singlehanded offshore sailing in the first place) of Sailutions USA, with me as his (hopefully) helpful assistant. 

It is the dawn of a new chapter in my sailing experiences, and I can feel it. There are new challenges to face, new things to learn adn new distances to be traveled. I am ready and fired up to dive in and see where this journey continues to take me.

 Guadalupe Island Preview

Ship Rock and Return :: a PSSA Race

From the starting line located approx. 1.0NM at 164°M from the south end of the MdR detached breakwater, pass El Segundo buoy "ES2" to port, round Ship Rock to port and proceed to the finish. The finish line will be delimited by 2 GPS waypoints. The starboard end of the line is located at 33°44.480N, 118°26.474W. The port end of the line is located at 33°44.482N 118°27.124W. The line runs at 078°M from Pt Vicente Light. If a GPS can not be used, finish when the Point Vicente Light (at position 33°44.500N, 118°24.638W) is within 1.5NM but NO further than 2NM and bears 078°M from the helmsman's position. The skipper shall take his (or HER :-) ) own finish time. Handicap distance 46NM.

Boat preparations permitting ( my NKE Autopilot and/or new Hydrovane installed, and battery issues resolved), I have committed to myself to do all of the PSSA winter races. The first was this past Saturday, and it was a great shakedown race. We had one of our best turn-outs in a long time (and the best ever in my history with PSSA), with 22 boats at the starting line. We have many new members, and they were well represented in this race, which to me, is very exciting and promising! There were 13 double-handed boats, and 9 single-handed, of which I was one. We were all worried about the wind forecast, but the day proved to be consistent even if it was mostly light. 

Charles Calkins' Class 40 was the rabbit boat, with Jerome Sammarcelli as crew. Once they started the race, they hoisted a full set of sails and promptly left us all in the dust. We saw very light wind for most of the day, and most boats had their asymmetrical spinnakers flying. I panicked when I saw this, realizing that I had forgotten mine in my storage locker. My trusty 140% genoa turned out to do the trick though, as I was able to hold my own in the light air. I am always amazed at how Cassiopeia scoots her 15,000 pound self along in such light air. She really blows me away.

It felt so good to be out on the water again, and to be alone on my boat. I love my crew and my friend, but being alone out there evokes something that cannot occur when others are with me. A sense of peace, autonomy and confidence sets in that I find nowhere else in my life. My favorite part of the day was approaching Ship Rock at dusk with a full moon rising. I was chasing my friend, Bill Ziel on Aloha, as I had been most of the day. He peeled out once around the rock, and as I came around, Rod Percival on Rubicon III ghosted in beside me, as only he can do. Once I rounded the rock, the wind came up for awhile, providing one of the most magical evenings of sailing I have had in a long time. Cassiopeia was in her element, reaching along at 7 knots as the sky grew dark and the full moon illuminated our course. At one point, I heard a breathing sound in the dark, and realized that my boat was surrounded by dolphins. They were playing in my bow wake and leaping about on all sides of me. They cruised with me for at least 5 minutes which added to an already mind-blowing scene.

The wind started to lighten up considerably about half way to the finish. Rod was on my tail, and I knew this could mean only one thing....that he would be passing me soon. Sure enough, about 2 miles from the finish, in true Rod fashion, he passed me in 3 knots of wind like it was nothing. I chased him to the finish, which got farther and farther away (or so it seemed) with the dwindling wind. Wind or no wind, the night took my breath away, and reminded me why I love to be at sea alone. The solace, and feeling of connection with nature and the universe is incomparable. The past couple of years have been really hard on me, especially the past 6 months. I have struggled to find light and joy in most things, but being on the boat, gliding along under the full moon was an immediate balm for my heart and soul. I felt true deep joy for the first time in months. I hooted and hollered, laughed, cried and shouted my deep prayers of gratitude into the wind for this amazing opportunity for growth and healing. Not only do these experiences make me a better sailor, but they make me a more connected person.

Congratulations to Tom Wilson on his Hobie 33 who smoked everyone in the singlehanded division, and Charles and Jerome who took 1st in the double handed division. I placed 4th in the singlehanded division in the preliminary results (though this may change, as I just received my renewed PHRF certificate the night I got home, and they have changed my rating…..long story). In the end, my place doesn’t matter to me. What does matter is the experience, and my consistent improvement as a sailor and racer against all of my heroes. As always, I am deeply honored to be in the company of such accomplished and brave sailors. To race side by side with my mentors and friends inspires me to no end, and I am very grateful for such a unique opportunity. Our next race is Bishop Rock, which is about 170 nm round trip. This will step things up a few notches, as well as prepare me for Guadalupe Island in March (EEEK!).