May 16, Day 17, Its a long way from Bali to Langkawi!

You know, its a long way from Bali to Langkawi. 2300 NM if you go the long way by wind.

As I contemplate covering the last 80 miles tonight into the port of Kuah on the island of Langkwai, I realize these are the closing hours in more than a single passage. Sometime early tomorrow morning, maybe even in the waning moonlit hours of pre-dawn, I will see the first land I have seen since Bali dipped below the horizon 18 days ago. What does it mean to come all this way from Bali alone, and to come all this way with Conversations our new boat from San Francisco?

Well, for sure, arriving in Langkwai is a 'coming home'. Seems strange to say it, but this part of SE Asia, now does feel like home. For the last 3 years I have sailed up and down this coast between Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand half a dozen times in other peoples boats, for fun and for pay, but now, its satisfying to arrive in my own creature.

It is also a coming home, as in the completion of a project. Its a project that started in San Francisco a year ago. It was last May when we did our pre purchase inspection of the boat, and since then I have slaved away on our project and boat preparing her and maintaining her over these many sea miles. Since that time, I have sailed Conversations over 12,000 NM to get her home and I have spent 87 days at sea doing it. I have loved the sailing, and on this last leg in particular as my first single handed passage, I have learned a lot about what it takes out here. But what I value the most are my memories of the people that have been a part of this project. Along the way, I have had some deeply fulfilling time with family and friends and met some great new people as crew, and I have had on this last passage, some time to get to know me a little better too! I even had my 54th birthday at sea on this last passage. As for Irena and I, even though she has only sailed a part of this journey in person, she has sailed every inch of it in spirit with me. Its is a long way from Bali to Langkawi, even further from San Francisco, but of course, its about the journey.

If I did not have to stay awake half the night looking after ship, I would have a little celebration. I will save that for tomorrow!

This is likely to be my last post for this trip. But come back soon, I have some other things planned.
Cresswell

(no subject)

Safely around the corner (NW tip of Sumatra) and headed more or less straight for Langkawi which is 240 miles away on the GPS. Its raining off and on and off and on, but the winds have backed off, so the squalls aren't lashing me the way they were. And it is nice and cool, in fact, pleasant. I hope there is enough wind, but I have lots of fuel to burn if I have to motor.

Lots of traffic last night as I went around the corner, but the AIS worked most of the time. When it was working, it was like parting the waters. All the traffic, because they knew what I was (sail boat with right of way), where I was, in what direction I was steering and how fast, I could see on the map view of all the ships (up to 12 at one point) simply plotted their course to go around me. When you look at the traffic on the screen and how they move, its like a dance floor in slow motion. Or motor cycle traffic in Viet Nam - as long as no one does anything too hastily, everything flows. It made it easy. With that much traffic, these guys (and gals - spoke to one on the radio) were on their toes and they are good.

Later that afternoon....
Around noon, we darted out of the way of the last of the squalls, and the wind filled in from the West and out came the sunshine. Turned into lovely downwind sailing day! With any luck, I'll see land for the first time in 18 days, day after tomorrow!
TTFN

Now this is more like sailing!

Breaking gear, ripping sails, and starting to believe I am not alone onboard - I must be single handed sailing!

I have lost track of time since I last posted. Its now Wednesday May 14, because my watch says so. I am just turning over the north tip of Sumatra in the company of -- count them - nine tankers, according to my AIS, which, incidentally started working again when the storm clouds cleared.

Last night I fell asleep in the cockpit to be rudely awakened again by the fury of my boat charging off into the dark under the lash of a another squall. In fact, for the last two days, every time I fall asleep, I am so sleep deprived, it is the sound of wind howling in the rigging and my boat out of control that wakes me. This is rude. I am now afraid to go to sleep, but of course I must, and when I do, I have this waking up experience. You can see my problem!

It caught up with me last night when I woke inside another squall and failed to get the mainsail down quickly enough. With a POW, it blew open from the front to the back, and left me to drag down the flailing tatters. I have a rather foreshortened version back up flying today, but that is okay because it is all I should have had up in the first place. In fact, I have given up on full sail, and am content to barely move, while I wait for the next blow.

So, I have found the weather to be seriously challenging. I guess, if one goes sailing in the monsoons, one should expect a fair bit of rain, but this is more than I bargained for. And wind! Yikes. For the last two or three days (I have lost track), it has been solidly overcast with storm cells embedded in the cloud layers. About every two hours or so there is another rip snort- en brother along to lay down upon me and smite me and my little boat. Winds go from less than 10 knots to 30 and 40 knots and sometimes stay there for 10 minutes but once it blew like that for over an hour - just long enough for me to get my storm jib out of the garage and get it flying. And rain. It rains so hard, it hurts to look. So trying to get sail up to keep the boat moving one minute, and trying to get sails down to keep ourselves afloat the next leaves not much time for beauty sleep.

And that is all I have gas for today!
C

Tuesday May 12....drifting along, singing a song, all by myself.....

Light winds, like teenage love, are fickle. They go, they stop, they blow this way, they blow that way, and then they don't blow at all. The sails go fwack fwack fwack. And Cress goes F...F...F.... And every few hours a squall drifts by, the winds go crazy for an hour, die completely, and then gradually come back. Here, the winds suck, not blow. Just like teenage love. Its very trying man. But fickle or otherwise, I am never-the-less making sure, but slow progress.

I have six days before I am meeting my party in Langkawi on May 19. I have 628 miles to go as of now (Tuesday morning), of which at least half of that will be against a .5 knot current. I need to cover at least 100 miles a day, if I am going to be there the day they arrive. I have about 2/3 of my fuel left. And, the winds are projected to remain light (and fickle). I can make it, but I have had to resign myself to the fact I will need to just slow down and accept it will take all six days to arrive unless there is a lot more wind than forecast.

So I will just kind of nurse her along, trying to be patient. If I can keep her up to 4.10 sog under sail, I just sail, if I can't, I motor sail. Like teenage love, it doesn't seem to get you anywhere, but eventually something becomes of it.

(no subject)

Last night a front moved in and she started to blow about 20 knots. One by one, the stars all went out and it got pretty dark. Every hour or two an embedded storm system came through with driving torrential rains and gusts to 30 knots. I spent the whole night with a double reefed main and the genoa unfurled between squalls, trying to get her furled before the winds started to huff and puff. Twice I got caught napping, being waken by the boat taking off like a wild horse with the radar alarm going bleep, bleep, bleep. The last time, I got an override on the retrieve line winch and had to sweat it in by hand, with that thunderous sound of a #1 genoa flogging in 30 knots. Not too swift Poindexter. After that I decided the genoa would stay furled till dawn, and I finally got some sleep.

I spend more time fiddling with the electronics on board than I do sailing the boat. This morning the Automatic Identification System is acting up. Yesterday it was the computer/modem/email system. But I must say, the new TMQ autopilot is doing yeoman's service. Touch wood. I punch in a course, she takes a couple of minutes to learn how to steer it with the least movement of the helm, and then she quietly does her work. Impressive. Without her, it would be tough. The Hydrovane steering is not working - I am certain the shaft is bent again. I emailed the manufacturer last week, and have not heard back.

Day 13 and we are sailing again

Position N00 37 E 091 53 Course 000 SOG 4.0

At the risk of jinxing the venture, after 40 hours of motoring, I can again hear the happy gurgle of water along the hull passing the nav station where I sit to write this. Yes folks, we are sailing and the iron genoa has been stowed.

Today,the 11th of May, we crossed the equator, northbound. And, even better news,
the wind has come in, albeit gently at less than 8 knots from the WSW. This is the edge of the Indian Ocean monsoon I had been looking for as a signal I am through the ITCZ and 'out the other side' ya hoo! I don't expect the monsoon to be as reliable or as strong as the SE trade winds, but they do offer the hope of wind and a downwind sail the last 700 miles or so to Langkawai.

Today is laundry and cleaning day. I washed all 13 days worth of laundry - two pairs of shorts and a hat. The hat was by far the worst because I wear it. The shorts I don't bother with much. I also cleaned out the fridge bottom. This is especially important as it contains all my open food, and when not normally refrigerated it gets, well, nasty.

Its hot out here folks, damn hot!

And as I write this, the wind is dying.... whimper... whimper.....

Droning along....

We are now just 4 hours short of motoring for a full 24 hours and no wind in sight. With no wind, the fluffy white clouds rise straight up from the glassy surface of the aquamarine water. Its rather fun, watching them grow and morph. Like a kid, I find myself laughing at the caricatures of people I know showing up in their profiles. It's so quiet, it would be perfect water skiing weather if I could get going fast enough under power! It would be fun too, skiing in and around the great big oily swells coming up from the SE. In the quiet, even the birds are resting - too much work to fly without the wind to give them lift on the waves.

And I am resting too. There is nothing much for me to do. With no wind, there isn't much to look at other than the clouds. The weather is completely settled, not even much squall activity about, certainly nothing I have to dodge. And, as for the boat, she is looking after herself. She steers herself. The boat's diesel is happy to run hour after hour after hour. The boat doesn't wake me up for any sail changes. The boat even pretty much navigates herself with GPS. Yup, its just about perfect. I even have the fridge running with all this excess electricity lying about, so I have cold, very, very cold beer. Now all I need is to find a way to have the boat cook and clean up after me, then I would be in heaven.

Really, the only thing I have to do is worry about having enough fuel. Which I don't, of course. I have enough fuel to motor about another 400 miles, and its still almost 800 miles to port. But I can't imagine not having any wind between here and Langkawi. The wind will pick up. Patience has never been a strong suite of mine. In the mean time I guess I'll just have to lie down some more. Saving my energy you see.

Post or no post, I must blog!

Ah me, it was a tough day yesterday. A bunch of things went wrong.

No email - something is wrong, either on board with my equipment, or with the one station I can reach. It seems not to be answering my calls. I don't know which it is, but I have decided I will write my blog and send it whenever I can.

No cruisers net - haven't been able to contact th SE Asia Net.

My propane solenoid went south in a puff of smoke yesterday noon. No spare on board and no gas plumbing supplies, so I drilled a hole through the gate in the burned out solenoid and reinstalled it. This will allow gas to the stove, but it means a tedious trip to the aft propane locker to turn the gas on and off.

The push switch in the aft head shower sump died. I ended bailing out the sump by hand, cursing. No more showers there until I fix that puppy. Oh well.

And of course, the wind has retreated. For the last 24 hours or so I have been reduced to sailing on whatever zephyrs come my way. When I do get moving air, it is either a trade wind residual or squall blast. The wind, when comes, and in all velocities, from all directions on the eastern half of the compass, from N, NE, E SE, S. This is what it is like in the twilight zone, errr, the Intertropical Convergence Zone, out of the tradewinds. In the last 24 hours, I have done more sail handling than since I left on this passage, but made less than a 100 miles in the last 24 hours. But, I have to remind myself, I am still sailing, not motoring, and 100 miles a day was my average in the last boat! So stop whining already!

Its all about expectations, isn't it? If I shift what I expect, I shift my context. If I shift my context, then I shift how I feel about it. Context is king, as my coach colleague Bill is fond of saying (How, by the way, are you Bill?)

Speaking of context, you know, its so damn hot, I am going to sneak on the fridge when nobody's looking and cool down a few of those Bali Beers, and damn the electricity dicks!

(no subject)

The most exciting thing that has happened to me in the last 24 hours, is sleeping in.
This morning, the sun was up when I came to in the cockpit. I could hardly believe it. When I opened my eyes, looked up, and felt my body, I thought I must be in heaven, because it was the best I have felt in days. Sleep is under rated!

I am sailing north west now, away from the heart of the trade winds, and I hate to say it, toward the DOLDRUMS! You know the place. The place of no wind, thunderstorms and sweating crew under the merciless tropical sun. And things are already starting to get hotter as the winds back off to about 10 knots. The boat is slowing, and the cabin is a furnace during the heat of the day without the trade winds blowing though it. It could be a long way to the other side of the DOLDRUMS, where I expect to pick up the Westerly monsoons of the Indian Ocean. It could be 500 miles, it could be 200 miles, or I could get lucky and find the DOLDRUMS going south, when I am going north and maybe I'll hardly ever be out of wind. The suspense is killing me, and I am totally obsessing about it. Truth be told, I am more afraid of two or three or four days sitting around becalmed than I am of the same number of days of stormy weather. Sitting around waiting for wind is agony for me. The only other thing that bothers me more is the thought of burning $400 worth of diesel to motor through it - I am such a tight wad!~

Oh well get over it. I guess, I'll go on deck and chase the birds off the solar panels, bloody free loaders. Its not the free ride that bothers, its the deposits that drive me crazy! On deck, bird poop is like greased lightening. Between that and the carcasses of flying fish I have to watch where I put my feet down. I guess I could get out the scrub brush....... naw... too damn hot.

Position as of 1545 local time S 05 degrees, 36 mins. E 095 degrees, 39 mins. About 1200 miles done, about 1200 miles more to go!

One Week at Noon Today

Counting myself blessed this morning. It is yet another beautiful, sunny day, sparkling waters and a following tradewind breeze of about 15 knots. Everything on the boat is working well enough. I managed to uncover my modem problem (fingers crossed, seems it needs its own independent power supply in addition to the feed it gets from the radio) and I slept well and deeply a couple of shifts last night. We are making about 8 knots through the water, against a .5 to 1 knot counter current. At this speed the boat bounces around a bit, but at least for sailing near dead down wind she is level and rolling only a little.

Today marks the end of my first week. I am feeling very at home, yet aware that my comfort and ease can quickly disappear with a change in the wind, an equipment failure or even a minor accident. When things go wrong on a boat, it usually happens very quickly, and often without much warning. So for now, I am vigilant, but also enjoying myself with reading, writing and fiddling with the boat. Enjoying it while it lasts.

What does with oneself 24 hours a day at sea on a solo passage? Well, a routine day shapes up something like this, although from my more general experience sailing, non-routine days can come back to back or weeks apart. Heavy weather, break-downs or whatever just totally hijack the day, but most days are fairly routine.

My day is tracked noon to noon, I guess as a reflection of the fact that this is the time of day of the traditional noon site, anchoring each day's celestial navigation. Thank goodness those days are gone with GPS So at noon I sit down here at the nav station, open the electronic charting and calculate the days run from the previous days noon site. Then I LOG the GPS position in the paper log so if I am struck by lightening and loose all these delicate electronics, I still have something to work with for finding my way ashore. But I do have no less than four GPS units on board. Two plug into the computer, one as a stand alone unit and the second built into the AIS (Automatic Identification System). A third is the nav station unit powered by the ships batteries and the fourth is a battery powered unit stowed in the abandon ship bag.

After that I usually make my biggest, and sometimes only meal, of the day. Its easiest to cook midday when it is daylight, but you know, when its just me, its too simple, so simple its a little embarrassing. Yesterday it was instant mashed potatoes, a gravy mix and a can of pre-cooked roast beef, for example. Next to that, the boxed wine is good. Then comes, of course, an afternoon nap, followed by ham radio work - usually a radio check in to a cruiser net, then a position update and another log entry. At dusk I do another email pickup which includes my scheduled weather grib files (wind and wave predictions) storm warnings and other advisories. Before dark, I go around the boat on deck checking the rigging, sails for chafe or damage, toss the flying fish back overboard (I hate stepping on them in my bare feet in the night) and just get things ready for 12 hours of sailing in the dark. I usually reduce sail a bit, so if a squall wakes me up, its not quite such a shit fight to get the boat back under control.

I usually sit on deck with a scotch and some tunes, play my drum, or just contemplate the day as the sun goes down. Best part of the day. Before it gets dark, I make up the cockpit for sleeping. Sometimes I'll read, do emails, it depends on my sleep quotient. Usually, I'll start the night routine with going to sleep until the boat wakes me up - not usually more than an hour or two. Then I have to do something - steer around a fish boat, change sails, close up the boat against the rain, get something to eat, reset sails and so on. Its amazing how just keeping the boat moving in the right direction with the right amount of sails takes more or less hourly attention, while sleeping around the events. It takes 10 hours to get 6 hours sleep. Before sunrise, I am usually so stiff from sleeping on the cockpit bench, I am waiting for the sun to rise so I can make my first cup of coffee to greet the day with. Nothing like it.

Morning, is kind of ridiculous, because its my most ambitious part of the day. I put on a bunch of sail if I can and tune the boat up for speed, fix anything broken from the night, and do another round of weather emails and log entry and navigation. If I am expecting compny, I'll have a salt water bucket shower on the aft deck. Soon its noon.

Inter dispersed with this at any time of the day and night, I will just plunk myself down - could be the bow, the aft deck, the cockpit, even a little way up the mast and I will just enjoy watching her sail through the waves. There is nothing quite like it. A sail boat is a simple machine, but it harness such power from the wind, no inboard motor would ever generate such energy, or do so with such finesse, balance and modesty. No smoke, no noise, no fuel to consume. Simple raw wind power. Leaving her to the hand of the windvane steering, I watch this harmony of design, materials and labour move so elegantly amongst the great rollers out here, I cannot help to feel in flow by association. As a machine, the boat is an extension of my knowledge and labours, and yet as my master out here, it commands my diligence and respect. This is such a big boat, I really need to stay ahead of her. I am merely the rider on the elephant! Master, yet mastered. Humbling, yet satisfying.

Flow is our ultimate reward for engaging the struggle and learning from the experience. When we grapple with forces bigger than us and engage them with earnest intent, we gain a modicum of mastery. Gradually, as we gather our experiences and forge our skills, we grow the depth of our competence and expand the challenge, never to achieve absolute mastery, but mastery of a sort none-the-less. By engaging the elephant,we discover our unique gifts, and through the cultivation of our gifts, build lives of passion. No challenge, no learning. No learning, no mastery. No mastery, no passion. No passion, no joy.
Cresswell

Day 6 is upon us

The Trade winds took about 9 hours off yesterday and played silly bugger with me. I gybed the boat back and forth from side to side as the wind came in starts from this side and that until I had gybed five times. Each gybe takes about 20 minutes to complete single handed. Finally, just after midnight the SE trades returned and I have been in the clover ever since. Despite the slow down, I still covered 146 miles yesterday.
My position as of 1540 local time is S 07 02 E 099 47, sailing a heading of 280 magnetic at a speed of 6.5 to 7 knots. If you were to google earth that position you would see that I am about 150 miles off the south east extent of Sumatra, headed for India! Still waiting for today's weather files over the radio, but as of yesterday, I still need to sail about another 2 or 3 days west before turning north keeping the worst of the doldrums to my right (starboard) as I go north.
Not much to say today, except that I am running around the boat looking for things to fix - I am always rewarded. I must have made the adjustment to being here.
Cresswell

How is posting a blog at sea like eating an orange?

How is posting a blog at sea like eating an orange?
Well, first I have to be inspired enough to get off the settee.
Second, I have to put my book down because it takes two hands to get to, and stay in, the swaying nav station and type.
Thirdly, and finally,its was a bit bitter at first when I bit into it, but when I begin to peel away the day and get inside, its all rather sweet and juicy.

Or so I hope, because I really have no idea what I am going to say today.

"Well, what's the juicy part?" I hear you asking.

Well, hmmm let me see. I know, I lost my voice. Its around here somewhere, the boat is only 48 feet long and like everything else that gets lost on board, sooner or later it is discovered. Its just gone into hiding for a day or two I think to punish me for what I did to it. Not that I have much use for it all by myself these days, but I was singing a bit to pass the time and I miss it.

Here is the story of how I lost my voice.

Yesterday, before I caught my fish, in a moment of self-loathing and utter carelessness, I opened a deli pack of chicken ham, and even though it smelled a bit odd and had that sticky feel to it, I devoured it right at the galley counter. Silly boy. As I stood there instantly feeling like I had over-eaten at McDonalds, I realized I had made a mistake, maybe even a very serious mistake. I am way too far away from anywhere to take a chance on food poisoning. It reminded me of a sailing friend from the South Pacific, who shall remain nameless. Despite my predicament, I had to smile with the memory of this fellow, and his adventures on his single handed quest to eat everything questionable he found on the boat and the places he visited and always be the last man standing. It was no contest as far as I was concerned - he was the king and he got home safely, but will I?

I knew right away what I had to do. And I knew I had to act soon. But I had never tried it before. In fact at sea, usually the first few days out, I am trying my best not to throw up! And I have had lots of practice at that with varying degrees of success, as my crewmates will attest. But making myself sick, when I wasn't? I had to smile again despite myself, when I realized what a tragic proposition this was for me to face, especially as I had only the faintest twinge of sea sickness on this trip and now I was going to have to make myself sick. "What a looser" I thought.

I cleared away some dirty dishes and leaned over the galley sink. The first tentative thrust of my fingers down my throat, brought about those awful sounds of the gag reflex, but nothing more. I tried it again, a lot more forcefully, asking inane questions of myself as I do at times like this. "I wonder what this thing I feel down my throat looks like?" and "I wonder, could I actually choke myself to death by doing this and would that be better or worse than death by food poisoning?" A third try brought no better results other than a roaring gag. You can imagine my voice was getting a work out and looking for a place to hide.

Well, I thought, I know when I am being sea sick it seems to be over fastest when I am on all fours on the cabin floor. I first encountered this position on the beaches of Long Point after my first and last encounter with Canadian Club Scotch Whiskey. Not being able to dig a hole in the sand, I reached over and grabbed the wash basin and got down on the salon floor. I managed to throw up only a trace. I tried and tried to no avail. I could see I was far from getting anywhere. I needed to get rid of this chicken.

As I pondered what to try next I remembered another friend who I remembered laughingly telling a gathering of friends one night of an evening he had spent at Haven-by-the-Sea Retreat Center drinking sea water and throwing up, or "Heaving-by-the-Sea" as he had put it. Ha Ha. Of course, salt water. No shortage that. One quickly swallowed cup from the galley salt water tap did the trick and I cleaned up with a second just for good luck.

Somewhere in the proceedings my voice got away. I know by the time I was attempting to swear in a self comforting way as I cleaned myself up on the salon floor, my voice was gone. But so was the chicken. Thank goodness. Problem solved. You silly boy, and I know my voice will forgive me and be back soon. Crazy huh?

Nothing to report around the boat today, really just a carbon copy of yesterdays great sailing. Covered another 154 nautical miles. Life is good, but watch out for that un-refrigerated chicken!

Cresswell

(no subject)

Banner day - 154 NM in the last 24 hours. Good sailing by any standard.

And, the sea sent me a fish. As I stood at the pushpit rail and watched her struggele to get free from my hand line, I promised her if she let me catch her I would honour her with my life. You see, today is day four, and I have remembered to surrender to this place. Sending me a fish,is the world's way of saying you are welcome. She did not come without a struggle, perhaps I am less worthy. But come in the end she did. Her brilliant green sides flashed in the sunlight - she was a Mahi Mahi -- as I dragged out of her element and aboard. I ended her suffering with a single blow from the winch handle and a said out loud "Thank you, I am sorry". The colour drained from her flesh with her life. Over to you, Cresswell. So I have done my best. She was a shasimi lunch, she'll be a garlic and leek fry up for dinner and she'll be a fish broth for lunch tomorrow. I am doing my best.

It was a long night last night, leading to my surrender. I was up and down and up and down changing sails, reefing sails and putting sails back up as each squall rolled through in varying intensities. By 4 am I was pooped. I was also down to main sail only, and so it stayed while I slept an hour and a half till dawn, and then, you guessed it, I got up and put full sail back on.

After the moon went down around 1 am, it was fully clouded over, so it was very dark. Over the next two hours I passed within two miles of a two different fishing trawlers, skulking by them with no lights on. I want to be invisible out here. I want to remain alone. I am relying on the radar alarm to alert me to traffic while I sleep and it works well, except I experience about 10 false alarms to every boat. I can see why after a while, skippers just turn the damn thing off and take their chances in the dark. The whole thing is a calculated risk anyhow.

I am in and out of dream land dream land so many times a night, you think I would be getting used to it. It's a weird couple of seconds between waking in the cockpit and figuring out where I am! But now I remember, perhaps tonight will be different.
Cresswell

Day Two - a day of blue

Howdy folks!
I am now solidly into the trades, though only about 40 miles off the coast of Sumatra and sailing due west. Fluffy white clouds rim the horizon, great blue 2 meter seas sparkle under the sun and cresting small white caps approach from th SE. It could not be a prettier day, or a better day for sailing west. By noon, we had sailed a total of 142 miles over the last 24 hours.

Conversations is still sailing on a broad port reach with the main to starboard, the genoa full and poled out to port and the solent staysail filling the hole between the main and the genoa. This is the perfect three sail combination for this boat. More stable than a spinnaker, it presents a large sail area that is stable, quiet and fast. Lovely, just lovely. Sliding along at between 7 and 8 knots.

By the end of the day yesterday I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. At sunset, the lack of sleep from first night out dodging fishing trawlers, plus 10 days of hell getting the boat ready had arrived in my lap. Fortunately the trawler traffic had diminished, so as the sun went down, I set the radar alarm and laid down in the cockpit and fell instantly asleep. About 25 minutes later I was instantly awake. The radar alarm was sounding and the boat was way off course. I could see nothing on the horizon to be as excited about as the radar, so I went below reset it, corrected the course and re-self steering and flopped down in the cockpit again. I feel instantly asleep. About 25 minutes later, I was instantly awake. The boat was off course and the radar alarm was sounding again. I got up....... And so it went all night till dawn, waking up once or twice an hour. I imagine its like it is to have a new baby home from the hospital. But here at the equator the nights are 12 hours long, so by morning my 20 or so naps had me feeling just great.

So, its day two and I can tell that I am adjusting to being at sea. The motion and the lack of solid sleep has taken about 48 hours to adjust to and my nervous tension for being solo is gone. My energy is going up and I even did some step ups, pushups and sit-ups to combat the bulge. Who knows, tomorrow I might even do some .....work work! (But I secretly hope not.)

My thought for the day is about capacity, about physical energy. All day yesterday, and last night, my body was just aching with fatigue. I didn`t have the energy to do anything that didn`t absolutely have to be done. I didn`t clean. I didn`t try to fix anything on the boat. I was barely able to cook dinner. I was so tired, I didn`t even get any pleasure from eating my KRAFT dinner with wieners! Now, that is bad! When I am taped out physically, nothing is fun, everything is a chore, and I start to beat myself up for not doing the stuff I `should`be doing. Last night I started in on myself about not being a good solo sailor and staying alert all night watching, as a sailor had recently boasted he does. But, you know, life is not that simple, and I am not that strong. Instead, I took the precautions I could, did the best I could to sleep around the alarms and bad helmsmanship of my self steering, and just gave up on doing what I thought I `should` do. I surrendered to my body and got as much sleep as I could and gave up on the everything else. Today I feel great­ and I am doing, in modesty, some great things (well some reasonable things). If things do get tough out here, I`ll be more prepared now that I am rested. Sometimes we need not be heroes: We just need to be good to ourselves. The rest will look after itself.