The Golden Shellback Voyage

10:55 p.m. – This is going to be a long night, as most first (and last) nights at sea are. The wind is from the WSW and we are “sailing” NW, as high as I can point in the light breeze/swell – a swell that continues to knock the wind out of the sails continually. It’s beginning to get nerve-wracking. Port tack, starboard tack. Chinese jibes – round in circles. The airport doesn’t seem to be getting any farther away.

12:50 a.m. – One of those “earn every mile” kind of sails. And it’s obviously going to be an all-nighter. We’ve made 12 miles to the north – the wrong direction – but the closest route to wind. Twelve miles should be enough to catch the wind blowing down the channel between Maui and Hawaii. The “breeze” has shifted to northish, but remains very light – now three knots, which is basically no wind. The ground swell remains the main problem, though. The slating and banging is hard on sails/hardware/rig/skipper, but not much I can do about it except harden down, which I have done. It’s the best I can do while also continually trying to keep Obsession on course. Doug stopped working when the wind died – hours ago. At least it’s a beautiful night with a partial planetarium sky.

2:30 a.m. – We continue to “sail” along to the accompaniment of the blam, blam, blam of the slating sails. A little ground has been made. Kona and the airport are now smudges of light. The airport beacon is no longer is visible. Now 19 miles from Honokohau. The four-knot wind is from the north and we continue to make northing – now 14.3 miles – in search of real wind. Mr. Weather Man on the VHF insists it’s blowing 15-20 knots in the channel. Any minute now – maybe. I’m catnapping now so I don’t get too tired and can’t wake up. I don’t want to fall into a deep sleep; it’s still way too close to land for that. Maybe more later, maybe not. All is well.

DAY 2 – Wednesday, January 20, 1999, Noon – 19º43’ N, 156º34’ W. Barometer 30.06 in, temperature 83º, wind S seven knots, sky clear. The nasty swell runneth and we continue to flog. We have sailed 28 miles since 3:30 yesterday afternoon. Not exactly making any speed records. 1,814 miles to the intersection of the equator and International Dateline. Our “speed” is presently two knots. Have been to the cockpit a thousand times keeping the boat more or less on course. The ride is not comfortable due to the swell, but the day is gorgeous. No land in sight, but it would be if it was clear.

6:50 p.m. – The sun has set – no sunset – and happy moon is up – his smile a little bigger. There is a vessel to the NE, has been there a while. I dozed off about 3:00 to the slating of the sails. When I awoke about 5:00, we were sailing! The wind is blowing 15 and we’re doing five knots on a beat - port tack. The wind’s from the SSW (!) And we sail WSW. That’s normal. Here we are in the NE trades and the wind blows from the SW – our direction of travel. I should be on a run and instead I’m on a beat. Go figure. At least we’re sailing. The swell remains. We’re rolling between 0º and 20º, but because there’s wind, the sails remain full. This is a good thing. All three hatches and all ports have been open since leaving. I feel slightly queasy, which his normal for me the first few days. Also feel tired from lack of sleep. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight (?). Now 45 miles from Honokohau – 110 miles SSE of Honolulu, 1,799 miles to the “intersection.”

10:20 p.m. – The wind has come SW so we sail W, sometimes WxN. Oh, well. The beat goes on, as Sonny used to sing. It is a dark night – cloudy – no stars. We roll the same. The wind speed has decreased, too – now 10 knots; we’re sailing 4.5 knots. I can accept that. I am keeping a lookout – I know this is a fishing area, will be so for another couple hundred miles. It is 77º, very comfortable indeed. I am listening to Barney Kessel play jazz guitar. It is an easy sail now. Things feel good. I feel good. I’m glad I’m here. All is well.

12:00 Midnight – I have been standing in the cockpit, facing forward, my back against the handhold, listening to the Baby Face CD on the Walkman, turned up as loud as it will go. It is cloudy but stars show through in patches. Obsession continues to roll in the cross swell. The phosphorescence is thick and bright. Deep, too, the deepest I’ve ever seen it. It is like phosphorescent soup. Obsession is sailing beautifully. The wind has clocked even more and we sail WxN now. I know if I tack south, the wind will clock back and I’ll end up going SE, and I don’t want any east in my course. So I tolerate – for now – a little bit more northing. Go figure this wind. There are pinpoints of lights – vessels – off the starboard bow and port beam. I figure these are fishing boats. Another long night, but I feel okay about it. Things could definitely be worse, that’s for sure. I am alive out here.

3:45 a.m. – About 2:00 a.m. the wind died – I was hoping it would be the shift to the trades. It was. An hour later, the wind started to blow from the NE! We are now on starboard tack, a broad reach, on course to the SW, headed for the intersection, doing five knots. No other vessels visible.

DAY 3 – Thursday, January 21, 1999, Noon – 19º26’ N, 157º48’ W – Barometer 30.15 in., temperature 78º, wind NE 15 knots, course WSW 5.3 knots, sky scattered cumulus. A beautiful tropical day. Now 99 miles WxS of Kona, 112 miles south of Honolulu, 1,749 miles to the intersection, 2,173 miles SW of Morro Bay. Just up for the day, a very long night and morning. I’m tired but I’ll wake up fully shortly. Lots to do today – mostly deck work. Obsession is sailing beautifully. Other than my slightly foggy head, I feel great. Downwind tropical sailing. Wow. Spyro Gyra plays.

2:10 p.m. – I didn’t expect to get “it” until at least five days out, but it’s here and I’m bathing in it. I am overcome. I go on deck to work. Clipped at the mast, I go into a trance. The sea could not be more beautiful. Caribbean blue dotted with playful whitecaps. The bluest-blue sky overhead. Obsession is heeled 20º to port. The bright-white sails flutter lightly like a small bird. I scan the horizon. The picture lifts my heart, brings a beaming smile to my mouth. I shout out “Yes!” loudly. I forget about deck/mast work and make my way to the cockpit and below. I grab the Walkman and put on Tony Bennett’s Steppin’ Out and sit behind the wheel. The sun is intense but the breeze makes outside very nice indeed. I listen to Tony and dig the scene and bake my skin. I smile a lot. Looking forward down Obsession’s length, the sails, the sky, the magnificent sea, music. I am a truly blessed man in so many ways. I’m grateful for all I have – especially my family – this relationship I have with the sea, though, is extremely intense. Strange. But I love it. Below now – no more sun for today. My skin is going AARRGGHHH! The night will come and I’ll go out there again. I love the days at sea. I love the nights at sea.

6:40 p.m. – At 3:15 the radar detector went off. A few minutes later a ship appeared ahead – maybe eight miles – moving south to north. Probably headed to Honolulu. From? Line Islands? Tahiti? Who knows. Lots of sea birds about this afternoon. Dusk now. Wind’s up – blowing 10. We’re doing 6/7 knots. Not bad. No sunset again tonight. Very cloudy sky now. And getting cold – 77º. Brrr.

9:00 p.m. – A lovely night, although it remains cloudy. I took a cold shower, the only temperature available without an engine. Not so bad. I feel clean for sure. Busy past couple of hours with shower, dinner, trimming sails, odd jobs. Haven’t had my contemplate-in-the-cockpit hour yet. That’s next. Sailing W/WxS now – a little north of course. That’s okay, as long as we sail swiftly, and we are. 15 knot breeze, doing five knots. Did six/seven knots for several hours earlier – was blowing 20-25 then. Have sailed over 50 miles since noon – she’s pickin’ up the pace.

10:25 p.m. – In cockpit/on deck working since last writing. There’s something particularly exhilarating about going on deck at night. Rigged the long preventor to the bow. The main is now way out and we’ve picked up another knot. Not the best trim with the main pushing the boat. The jib is not working, so have it sheeted flat. Tomorrow I’ll take down the main and put up the spinnaker. Maybe a spinnaker run all the way to the intersection? That would be amazing. Better course now, too, with the main out. Still slightly north of course, though – 1,692 miles to the intersection. Almost there. Obsession is set for the night, I hope. I feel great. I miss my family. I write by red light. All is well.

DAY 4 – Friday, January 22, 1999, Noon – 18º50’ N, 160º12’ W – Barometer 30.13 in, temperature 80º, wind 15 knots NE, course WSW, speed 5½ - 6½ knots. Sky mostly overcast. Sea – six feet, a shimmering gun metal blue. 240 miles from Kona, 1,621 miles to the intersection. 141 miles sailed past 24 hours. It has rained – drizzled really – on and off all morning. It is enough rain to have to close everything. Then . . . talk about warm. Fortunately, they haven’t lasted long, then I let the breeze flow through again and that feels goood. I haven’t touched steering or sails since last night so sail plan remains the same under the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” rule. It is rougher today, but not bad. Cooking, for instance, is becoming more of a challenge. Still, on a scale of 1 to 10, it’s about a 3½ . Far from unpleasant. My shoulders and upper back have that if-you-take-this-skin-into-the-sun-for-one-more-minute-it’ll-fry feeling, so I’ll remain cautious in that arena. One more mile and we’ll be in international waters. It is a nice day for sailing.

2:40 p.m. – We’re in a dark gray tropical squall now. It’ blowing 30 knots and we’re flying downwind 7-8 knots. The seas are bigger – 10 feet. It is beginning to get nasty out. Now it is pouring.

3:00 p.m. – Whew! An exciting 20 minutes, and it’s not over yet. First she headed in a big gust – almost broached. To the cockpit, the rain pouring down. Got her back on course, below, dried off, and she jibed. Repeat cycle. It is windy, rough, nasty, squally, pouring rain. Otherwise, the sailing’s great.

8:45 p.m. – It is pouring the hardest of rains. Lightening is flashing – close – all around. The seas are over 15 feet and it is ROUGH. Since writing last – at least until 7:00 p.m. – it was a struggle in the cockpit. Gale-strength squall followed gale-strength squall. The interior is soaked – not so much from the leaks – they are alive and well – but from the weather coming in the companionway. It is blowing 40 now and the boat is a bucking bronco. The lightening continues. Anyway, terrible time in the cockpit with the continually changing conditions. About seven, things seemed to be okay, so I dried off and crawled into my warm, dry berth for a nap. I was tired. Sleep did not come, so at 8:00, I arose. Just then, she jibed, so that got me to my feet and out. It was calm(ish), but that’s when I saw the lightening and descending black mass. It became a race to see if I could get the main down before the storm hit. I lost. The main is down, but not furled. It sits on the cabin top and will have to be dealt with when this ends. We beat N/NNE, under eased jib. The radar detector just went off. Swell. A ship about. Perfect. Just what I need. The rain is so loud on the cabin top, I’d have to shout to hear myself. Good thing I’m writing. We sail on. To the north!

9:45 p.m. – There was a lull in the rain so I furled the main. Not a very good job of it, mind you. But it is secure. Also now have Obsession on port tack, on course (sort of ) on jib alone. There is another lightening storm approaching. Hopefully can stay on course, but if I have to heave-to, it will be a simple matter. Hash on the stove. I’m hungry.

10:35 p.m. – Ate dinner, then another trip to the cockpit for adjustments. At least I didn’t have to go on deck. A small mercy. Dry and warm again. Lightening further away now and no rain – at the moment. Obsession has slowed without the main, and that, too, is merciful. We are dead on course now doing 4-4½ knots. Lost six miles to the north during the semi heave-to, but we’re getting them back now. It was intense and very wet on deck today. After setting the main and returning below, I poured a cup of water out of each deck shoe. I almost fell once on the cabin top and once below. Violent. This stuff is what keeps it interesting. Who needs all that perfect tropical weather anyway? Now we roll and hobby-horse simultaneously. It’s constant motion aboard Obsession. Maybe the gales have passed (?). It’s all been very invigorating. Tower of Power plays. Thinking a lot about the kids. I write by red light. All is well.

DAY 5 – Saturday, January 23, 1999, Noon – 17º55’ N, 161º40’ W – Barometer 30.14, temperature 84º, wind E 15 knots, course SW, speed five knots. Sky scattered cumulus. Swell 10 feet – rough. 295 miles from Kona, 1,523 miles to the intersection. Obsession remains in a rather violent state snap rolling/hobby horsing. Otherwise, it is a beautiful day. Today is Ryan and Danielle’s wedding. I am thinking of them and sending happy thoughts. Haven’t done much this morning except eat, trim sails/steering, straighten up the cockpit. Down below remains somewhat in disarray and I have to clean up. Also it’s battery-charging day. So some hours of work ahead. Still sailing on jib alone.

2:30 p.m. – The new Honda generator is purring on the bridge deck, fueling the batteries. It is a gorgeous, blue day. The sea is down a little but we’re still rolling, but not as bad. I’ve been busy with “housework” since last writing. All cleaned up.

5:40 p.m. – Sea is back up over 10 feet, but it is gorgeous. It is a happy sea. It’s blowing 25 now, but only 20 apparent because we’re sailing downwind. The jib does all the work. We’re scootin’. About 2:00 decided to have lunch. A perfect day for Obsession Salad. I couldn’t get the quart jar of hearts of palm open, so I gave the jar a tap on the galley counter. Presto, half jar of heart-of-palm juice on the counter. The boat performed a quick snap roll and the juice was everywhere. Clean, clean, clean – all cleaned up. What a mess. I put half the jar of hearts in a bowl. What next? Hmmm. Marinated artichoke hearts. Perfect. Damn, the jar won’t open. I tapped it on the counter and the jar gushed forth its oil – on the counter, on the sole, and on my feet. Yuk. Clean, clean, clean – all cleaned up. What a mess. I dumped the jar into the bowl. No problem, plenty of oil left. Now what? Perhaps some olives. I opened the overhead locker and a can of corn fell out and dropped into the bowl – oil splashed everywhere. I cleaned that up and settled for hearts of palm and marinated artichoke hearts. It was delicious.

8:00 p.m. – So an hour ago I was hungry again and decided on shrimp Top Ramen. Mmm. Prepared – with a can of shrimp added – I went to pour it in the bowl. All looked safe. Nice smooth ride at the time. Soup in bowl, Obsession takes a roll, and so does shrimp Top Ramen. Everywhere. Shrimp. Clean, clean, clean. I prepared to carry the remains to the dining table – the chart table. Obsession was bouncing but I’ve done this maneuver a thousand times. I’m there, at the chart table, holding the bowl level as I always do. Then I took my attention off it for a split second. Boat rolls, soup spills. Everywhere. Shrimp. Anyway, I got it cleaned up and consumed what remained. It was still hot. Next time I’m hungry I’m sending out. Then . . . while still in the galley, I went for a kitchen utensil in the middle drawer. Uh oh, water – an inch of water in the bottom. It tastes like salt water. Kitchen utensils in sink, rinse with fresh water– the drawer, too. I’ve traced the leak to a drain “T” connection directly above the drawer. The drawer above is short – this plumbing is directly behind it and dead center over the next drawer down. Anyway, I haven’t found the exact spot of the leak – there’s a lot of old solder that has to be cleaned away. Hopefully, the whole thing won’t fall apart on me when I go to clean it. If it does, that’s why they invented epoxy. It is dark now. I learned all this by flashlight. Tomorrow. Other than that? Well, it’s raining and it’s blowing a gale 35 knots. Otherwise, the sailing’s terrific.

11:45 p.m. – The gale (squall) passed and no others came. Back to 20-25 knot wind/semi-clear sky. Happy moon is now between quarter and half and is bright. The sea remains big, but we’re sailing nicely. Much better with jib pulling the boat instead of the main pushing. Much easier on Doug, too. There was a ship ahead about an hour ago. Coming right at us. Red and green lights were clear. I tried to call but she turned and disappeared. Go figure. Probably somebody’s Navy and they didn’t want to deal with me. Salt water blisters appearing so I took a shower, changed sheets, slathered myself with aloe to see if I can’t stop this in its tracks. Making good speed, especially considering jib alone – 5½ - 6½ knots. It’s a beautiful night, albeit a bit rough. Things can change in an instant out here, though. Now 385 miles from Kona. We are “out there.” The voyage continues. The lights shine at the mast head. I wish Ryan and Danielle a happy life together. All is well.

DAY 6 – Sunday, January 24, 1999, Noon – 16º39’ N, 163º15’ W – Barometer 30.1 in., temperature 82º, wind ENE 15 knots. Course SW, speed five knots, swell from the east 10 feet, otherwise another gorgeous tropical day. 447 miles from Kona, 1,405 miles to the intersection. To sleep at 1:30 a.m and slept through till 8:30 this morning. Didn’t get out of my berth until 9:30. Luxurious. It’s Sunday so I took the morning off. Have been listening to gospel and classical. After this, have to go to work – lots to do. It’s been an enjoyable morning.

4:00 p.m. – A busy, exciting afternoon so far. The wind shifted to ESE putting us on a broad reach, so it was time to raise the main. I put Obsession into the wind and crawled to the mast. Now it’s blowing 20 into 10-foot breaking seas. The boat pitches like a wild horse and tons of sea water came over the bow. It was drenching and hoooold on. Naturally everything went wrong – halyards twisted, reefing line jammed, 10 trips back to the cockpit. But I did it. The main is up with one reef. Rigged the preventor on the starboard side as we’re now on a port tack. Tightened forward lower shroud on starboard side. It was too loose and was thwanging. I hate cotter pins. Have the generator running again because I wasn’t happy with the charge I got yesterday. I turned up the charger. Down below is in disarray again. And I still haven’t dealt with the leaking drain pipe/galley sink. But I’m having fun. I think.

6:30 p.m. – I think I’m “finished” for the day. You never know for sure. Because I was drenched – several times – today, I knew I had to at least rinse off because of the salt-water sores. The generator purred on the bridge deck. A light bulb went off. I’ve got an electric water heater. End of battery charging. Time to turn off the charger and turn on the water heater. I’ve never used it with 110V, but it is “supposed” to be hooked up. When I turned the heater switch, the generator didn’t sound like it was taking a load, but I let it run 20 minutes anyway. Into the head and I turned on the hot water. Something resembling liquid dirt came forth. Guess the hot water heater needs a clean out, which I save for the ‘morrow. In the meantime, I had a dandy cold-water rinse off. I can’t really complain, the water’s about 75º – not exactly freezing. I sit here now, lots of work accomplished, Obsession sailing with the grace of the sea birds that are always nearby, with a clean(ish) body and a happy heart, feeling that I have my surroundings “right” and I’ve settled into life at sea. Oscar Peterson is playing for my Sunday evening enjoyment. Life could be worse.

7:15 p.m. – It is dusk. The sun has set behind the cloudbank that obscures the sky at the horizon. Huge billowy cumulus nearby are backlit a bit. The sea is not too big – eight feet – but it moves swiftly. It’s a delight to be sailing downwind, but would be misery to be beating in these conditions. A sea bird – white with gray-tipped wings – one of these days I’m going to have to get a book on sea birds – soars around the boat. I stand in the companionway to stay out of the salt spray. Soon enough I’ll have to go out there. The bird circles and swoops and glides stationary 15 feet above the cockpit and turns and performs a lazy eight. It’s like he’s entertaining me. I call out my usual “Hello Bird” whenever he’s nearby. He didn’t look at me but has to know I’m/we’re here. Has to. Then, as if a magician had conjured them up, six more birds – the same kind – appeared. Presto. And they all started this same routine around the boat, only in different directions. It was amazing. Now they’re gone.

8:00 p.m. – Just sitting back, listening to Oscar play – it’s a two CD set – long. The red light glows over the chart table. Obsession is movin’! She has that airliner-coming-in-for-a-landing-on-a bumpy-day feel. Kind of jerky. We’re doing seven knots. I can feel the speed, picture the fullness of the sails. A pretty sight. KERPLOW – the big wave hits. It’s a canon boom. Then she rolls on her side – 40º probably. The roar of the wave passes under the boat. Glasses, utensils, flashlights, books go flying. Water cascades on the cabin top and down the decks. The cockpit is drenched. I say aloud, profoundly, “Wow!” Obsession stands up, shudders, and continues with her landing approach. Only seconds have passed. I climb the companionway to see the spectacle of the mammoth wave, but like the birds, it is gone. In the darkness, the sea looks peaceful. I pick up – it only takes a minute – I’ve done it a million times – while Ray Brown plays a solo. It is an exciting night, sailing-wise.

11:20 p.m. – The reefing line parted. BAM. Don T-shirt, shorts, shoes, harness. Ease preventor, take in main. To the mast, lower main. To the cockpit, rig new reefing line. To the mast, raise main. To the cockpit, ease main. To the mast, crank in reefing line, coil lines, take in luff line. To the cockpit, adjust main sheet, take in preventor, adjust course. Thirty minutes, and all going downwind. Not a drop on me, except now I’m sweating. It’s 77º out. A wave just broke over the boat. Lucky me. The moon is a half moon and shines a moonglow path on the ocean. The scorpion’s stars shine, framed by clouds. I’m looking forward to seeing the Southern Cross. What direction would I look to find the Southern Cross? Hmmm. Still doing a steady seven knots. I like that. Eric Clapton is wailin’ the blues. We sail onward. To the intersection, a mere 1,340 miles ahead. I miss my family. All is well.

DAY 7 – Monday, January 25, 1999, 1:00 p.m. – 15º16’ N, 165º25’ W – Barometer 30.01 in., temperature 83º, wind ESE 20 knots, course SW, speed 6-7 knots, sea 10 feet, scattered cumulus, a carbon-copy day of yesterday: stunning – 597 miles from Kona for a 100-mile-a-day average so far. 1,257 miles to the intersection. Didn’t go to sleep until nearly 4:00 a.m. – slept through until 12:30! Wow, a mega-sleep. Busy in the cockpit after last writing last night. Several jibes, but all went perfectly while I slept. I’m hoping for an easy day.

6:00 p.m. – And I’ve had one so far. Stayed below until 3:30 then went outside. Just came back below. Adjusted a few things, but didn’t have to go on deck. Sat back on the steering seat – Walkman plugged into my ears – and allowed myself to become enchanted with the scene: the sea, sky, boat, sails. Man, a killer day. I am completely at peace with the big seas. After a while, I sat on my knees facing aft, arms on the stern pulpit, the wind vane working easily, silently next to me. I watched the oncoming waves for an hour. I was hypnotized, mesmerized. Too grand, too beautiful. The sea is running 10 feet, but every so often – maybe every 10 minutes – a set of bigger ones comes along – a couple of 12-footers with a 15-footer for a grand finale. An elevator ride – up, down, up, down. But each wave different from all the others. It is 6:10 now. Sunset soon. Maybe a good one tonight? A new sea bird this afternoon. Brown with a white belly and a notch in each wing. We had eye contact a couple of times. Yesterday and today’s birds are different from those I’ve seen before. As I near Howland and Baker Islands, I expect to see some new kinds, too. Obsession is sailing wonderfully. We have a special relationship, this boat and I. A lot of miles under our keels.

7:10 p.m. – A minor milestone, just passed. Just entered a new box, the intersection lies on the far side of the third box ahead – takes three days to cross a box. So . . . “should” get there in 9-10 days. It could be eight days if we keep this speed up (?). Then again, we could get becalmed for three weeks. That wouldn’t be much fun. Ah, the unknown of it all. Plain vanilla sunset again tonight. Spray coming in cockpit now so I’m below for the night, I guess, unless I get called out, which will likely happen.

11:15 p.m. – It has been squally, rainy the past few hours. Frustrating winds. But we are coping, Obsession and I. Winds have been fickle at times, particularly between the squalls. Some have been filled with rain, but no wind; others filled with wind but no rain. Go figure. They seem to have passed for now, and we are back on course doing six knots. Lots of trips to the cockpit. Have to close up down below – normally I keep overhead hatches, some ports, companionway open. It gets stifling fast when I close everything. It’s 78º out. Now the breeze flows through and “perfectly comfortable” would describe how it feels. 1,202 miles to the intersection – almost there. It has been an A-plus day. I’m a happy sailor. I miss my family. All is well.

DAY 8 – Tuesday, January 26, 1999, Noon – 13º50’ N, 167º10’ W – Barometer 30.7 in., temperature 85º, wind E 15-20 knots, course SW. Speed 6-7 knots. Another day exactly like the past few. Gorgeous. Enthralling. Continues rough but I’m used to it. 726 miles southwest of Kona, 1,125 miles NE of the intersection. We continue to fly. To sleep at 1:30 a.m. Up at 3:30 and 4:30 to deal with jibes. Otherwise a great sleep. Up at 9:30. Almost back to “normal,” sleep-wise. So far I haven’t left the cabin or done anything. To the cockpit now for daily preventative maintenance, adjustments, and enjoy the day.

5:00 p.m. – Another kickback day. Gosh, I hate these. Spent two hours in the cockpit digging the scene. A sea bird tried to land on the masthead, gave that up and tried to land on the spreaders. The mast is whipping around like an amusement park ride. He never had a chance of making it. But he gave it about 20 tries before giving up and flying away. It was comical. That’s the only bird I’ve seen today. The sea is magnificent. Unbelievable, the grandeur, the immensity, the power, the beauty. I still have to go on deck to deal with preventor chafing. I’ve been putting it off.

6:20 p.m. – Went out on deck to take care of chafing problem. Naturally, a big wave came and drenched me. It felt great. It’s the tropics! As usual, found other things to deal with while I was out there, mainly recoiling halyards. It is exciting working on deck in these challenging conditions. I love sailing. It is Tower of Power hour now. I rinsed off with fresh water after my foray on deck, and am slathered in aloe. It blows 20-25 now. Blowin’! What an incredible sail the past few days. Advanced solo sailing for sure. The moon has been showing all day – a daylight moon. It is a three-quarter moon now. I forgot to report on leaking galley sink drain pipe. I filled both sinks and let them drain. No leak. So I figure it was pans of water I kept soaking that were sploshing between sink and counter and leaking into drawer. I’ve stopped leaving water in the sink and the problem has stopped. Presto. Just call me Mr. Plumber.

7:20 p.m. – It is dusk now. The sea has become rougher and water comes over the boat. I am shut in again. No sunset – again – hasn’t been a good one so far this voyage. Feels like it’s going to be a rough, wet night. Blowing steady 25 now.

8:45 p.m. – It is absolutely wild right now. We are in a squall – a large one, I think. It is blowing 35, the rain is pelting down, the sea feels like it’s being churned by a Mixmaster, wave after wave is crashing over the boat. But, so far, I’ve stayed snug here below. Man, there was a big one! It is howling’! Otherwise, the sailing’s great. Ah, the tropics.

1:05 a.m. – Man, what a night. ‘Bout 10:00, the boat went off course – headed toward the wind – not a particularly unusual thing. But Doug wasn’t bringing her back on course. I checked him with a flashlight from below. I could see he was trying, but Obsession wasn’t responding. Out to the cockpit, looked over the stern, and there – dragging in the water behind the boat – was Doug’s rudder. Luckily it is secured to the boat by a line and I fished it out. The coupler – a stainless steel tube that secures the rudder to the wind vane – had broken. This piece is made weaker than the other parts of the vane and rudder – it is meant to break before anything else. Maybe a wave hit it and broke it, or maybe 130+ sea days and she gave up. Who knows. In any even – broken. Kaput. In half. Gonzo. I have a spare coupler, but could tell it wasn’t going to be a fun job as it’s located a few inches above the water. Mark Schrader replaced his in the Southern Ocean during a BOC race. I figured if he could do it in the Southern Ocean, I could do it in the tropics. It had to be dealt with tonight. It isn’t one of those things I could put off until tomorrow. I self-steer – somewhat – and duck below for tools, the spare coupler tube, and return to the cockpit. Then the next squall hits. Bam! Intense. Mega rain. The rain against my hood sounded like a hundred popping popcorn machines. I hand-steered for 30 minutes until it finally, mercifully passed.

I undid the weather cloths and hung over the stern with wrenches until I got the top part off the vane. I wired it to the frame, just in case I dropped it. I didn’t and brought that piece aboard. After a struggle, I had the new coupler attached to the rudder. Now all I had to do was bolt the rudder assembly back into the vane at water level. It weighs about 20 pounds. In the end, with much struggling, gnashing of teeth, some cursing – okay, a lot of cursing - all hanging over the stern with a tiny flashlight in my mouth – I got her bolted back on. Not an easy task, but I conquered it. Then redid the steering lines, a trip to the mast to adjust the reefing line, and we’re back sailing again. Two-and-a-half hours. It is blowing 27 knots right now and we’re doing seven. Hopefully nothing else will go wrong tonight. Probably more gale-strength squalls. There’s been about eight of them tonight. In the meantime, Obsession is sailing swiftly again, headed for the intersection. It’s only 1,050 miles ahead now. I feel great. I feel like a blue-water solo sailor. I miss my family. All is well.

3:45 a.m. – Still up. Just checking in. No more squalls (so far). Killer beautiful night the past couple of hours. Three-quarter moon was bright – it’s now set. Starry now. Just been enjoying myself and my surroundings.

DAY 9 – Wednesday, January 27, 1999, 12:45 p.m. – 12º02’ N, 168º50’ W – Barometer 30.3 in., temperature 82º, wind ESE 30 knots, course SW, speed six knots. Another day like the others, only windier. 866 miles from Kona, 980 miles to the intersection. Up until 6:00 a.m. After last writing, things kicked up again, and I was busy keeping the boat sailing. Up at 9:00 to deal with a jibe. Then slept till 12:15 (another jibe). I am short on sleep and feeling it. It has been very rough, very intense sailing past eight hours. Down below is in shambles – again. So what’s new? Strange, it is blowing so hard yet the barometer stays up and it is beautiful outside. It is very salty in the cockpit – and didn’t it rain just last night? I must admit it would be nice to have a calm, 15-knot day. But I better be careful what I wish for.

1:05 p.m. – Just put “X” the on chart. We are 285 miles south of Johnson Atoll, 550 miles northwest of Palmyra. Basically, in the middle of nowhere. “Out there.”

5:25 p.m. – A tranquil afternoon interspersed with “crisis mode” whenever she heads up – in the gusts – or jibes – in the lulls. Wind 25 now with “lulls” to 20 and gusts to 30. Big seas – lots of water coming over the boat all the time. No outside time except when I have to go out, then I always get wet. The Pilot Chart doesn’t mention anything about these conditions. So much for Pilot Charts. We continue to fly, but it’s rough, that’s for sure. On a broad reach, almost a beam reach, but not quite. Natalie Cole is singing Route 66 in my ears on the Walkman. This is some of the most challenging sailing I’ve ever done. Not a piece of cake, but far from horrible. I’ve missed outdoors time today.

9:25 p.m. – Did spend some time – hour and a half – outside. Working, but it was outside. This sail is chewing the gear up. I have to move the preventor and the vane’s steering lines every day because of chafe. 24 hours and they’re half chewed through. The sails, the rig, the sheets seem to need constant attention. I’m always on the lookout for something to break, and dealing with things that need attention now. Everything is working so hard, but holding up well (as long as I stay on top of things).

Me, I’m black and blue and red all over. Just kidding. Do have some bruises. That’s normal. I banged my shin in the cockpit this morning. That hurt. A bone bruise. And have bruised a rib bone. Don’t know how I did that. I’m not as brown as fudge, but I haven’t burned and don’t worry how long I stay out in the sun anymore. I think I’m going to be pretty tan when the voyage ends. The seas are the same – big. Occasionally – every 20-30 minutes – a cross sea comes along. I watched a couple earlier. BLAM, it hits the side of the hull sounding like a score of heavy sledge hammers had hit the hull hard. Then two seconds later: Niagara Falls. A big one brought water down the companionway earlier. Not the first time it’s happened. It is a wet ride now. I will rinse off shortly, but why? Soon as I do, I’ll have to go out. Going out equals getting wet. No way around it. I’ll shower because it will feel good. I have to go on deck first, though; another turnbuckle needs to be snugged up. Every time I go on deck, I find something else that needs to be attended to. Such is the life of a sailor.

Down below remains in a state – things are getting pretty knocked about down here. Then there’s the towels and paper towels all over the place to deal with the water. In a word, it’s a mess. Not as bad as it gets during a storm, though. The wind indicator says it’s blowing 20, but it still feels like 30. It’s the seas. I’ve always said, it’s not the wind that gets you, it’s the seas – and this is/has been a nasty, breaking, swift-moving sea – although beautiful, awesome. Jack would call these conditions “snotty.”

My hands have really hardened up – they’re like a farmer’s. I’m taking care of them with Neutrogena. Neutrogena and aloe vera – those are what’s keeping me healthy, wealthy, and wise. We are halfway to the intersection now. About 925 miles to Kona, 925 miles to the intersection. Definitely “out there,” or what we sailors sometimes call “on the high seas.” “High seas” means, I think, “out there.” Use ‘em interchangeably at will. I’m going to turn on the spreader lights and crawl on deck and deal with my favorite things: cotter pins. I’ll be back.

10:30 p.m. – Turnbuckle snugged, steering lubricated, cabin sole picked up. We’re back on a regulation broad reach – wind from the east, we’re sailing southwest. I have her sailing “in the groove,” at least for the moment. I think everything is dealt with – also for the moment – except my body and clean sheets. That’s next. Big wave just hit. Pow. Splush. Gurgle.

12:30 a.m. – Exhausted. Going to sleep (hopefully). Never got shower/sheets. Such is life. I miss my family. All is well.

4:05 a.m. – Had to get up at 3:00 to deal with a jibe. I couldn’t stand myself any longer, so took a shower, washed my hair, changed sheets, aloe’d. A new guy until I go outside and get drenched. Wide awake again, but know I’m real short on sleep. Boat requires a lot of attention. I’ll stop the boat for eight hours if I have to. Hate to do that ‘cause we’re making tracks, but will if necessary. All remains very well. And clean.

5:20 a.m. – Still up. Don’t know why. Know I’m exhausted; I can feel the bags under my eyes. Yet I feel wide awake. Go figure. Hopefully soon. Conditions appear to be moderating. This past couple of hours wind is down to 15 and steady from the east. The boat’s motions have that familiar sailing-downwind-to-Hawaii feel. We are dead on course, not wavering, which means the wind is steady. That’s merciful – fewer trips to the cockpit. And the water has stopped coming over the boat. All positive signals. It all feels good right now. And we’re still scootin’ – 6½ knots, 880 miles now to the intersection. I feel great. I write by red light. All is well.

DAY 10 – Thursday, January 28, 1999, Noon – 10º16’ N, 170º45’ W – Barometer 29.92 in., temperature 84, wind E 20 knots, course SWxS, speed six knots. Yet another beautiful day. 1,020 miles from Kona, 825 miles to the intersection. Set ship’s clock back two hours. Hadn’t taken care of this small chore. Now done. Have slept maybe six hours, all in one-hour naps, so I feel tired. Maybe (?) a nap this afternoon. Wind up a bit but sea remains merciful. Obsession flies.

1:20 p.m. – The generator runneth. It’s like having a lawn mower aboard. I think it’s been six days since I’ve charged, and both batteries were only in the middle of the yellow zone – about 11¾ volts. Not bad. Excellent, actually. Know what a sailor is called who hasn’t crossed the equator? A slimy wog. That’s me: a slimy wog. Ate a great Obsession Salad for lunch. The sun is shining, the sea is sparkling, the sails are full. Life is good.

5:45 p.m. – Forgot to mention. The decks were covered with flying fish this morning. Well, not covered, perhaps a couple of dozen. A school of them must have “flown” by and – whoops – a few got caught on Obsession’s decks and cockpit. Francis Chischester used to collect them each morning and fry them for breakfast. Yuk. They are slimy and they stink. Not for me. No thanks. A steering control-line block – a double cheek block – exploded a while ago. BLAM. Obsession immediately headed into the wind and began to take water over the bow. I’ve had the hatches open because of the improved (improved for downwind sailing) sea conditions. Man, the water poured into the boat. Oh well, I’m used to it. Sopped the water up, left the hatches open, and the boat is already dry. Changed the block – $60 – and we’re back on our way. Also other cockpit/deck work – all preventative-maintenance stuff. I’d like to take the sails down to check the halyards, but it’s still too rough for that. I don’t want to lose a halyard. Man, we are rolling like crazy right now. Didn’t finish generator charge – too rough/wet. Did get 1¼ hours which will last two to three days. Another unspectacular sunset tonight. Not one really good one so far. What’s the deal with that? It is nearly a full moon already, and the sky is scattered with small cumulus, so it will be a bright night on the water tonight. I saw the sun rise this morning. Was in the cockpit to deal with a head or jibe – forget which – and there was the sun coming up. I usually don’t see this particular phenomenon because I’m sleeping. Anyway, it was just like sunset only in reverse.

9:00 p.m. – It is a bright night indeed. The moonglow casts shadows. A while ago, I thought I had left a light on in the main salon it was so bright in there. Only a handful of stars are showing in the lighted sky. It’s cool. And the moon isn’t even full yet. Took another wave a while ago. I could hear it rushing toward the boat through the hull, then BAM, the sledge hammer thing, then water. The hatches are now closed. Been having wonderful “head trips” today – fun, positive stuff. No great insights, though. That will come. I love the mental part of solitude. Every day new boxes are opened and explored, new ways of seeing things are discovered. It’s a different mind set after a week at sea, for sure. It’s liberating, insightful, and a lot of fun. One thing’s for sure: you either have to be totally mentally together or crazy to do this. That’s a joke. Solo sailor humor.

11:50 p.m. – I’m yawning. It has rained twice tonight. The first time, a very light rain – a drizzle. The second, heavy and it blew in the companionway. I shut the door/hatch and galley port while it rained. The temperature in the cabin rose one degree every 30 seconds. Finally it ended and I opened up. Ah, fresh air. A wave rushed under the boat at the beam causing a snap roll. The snap roll caused the main to spill its air which caused all the water in the reef-tucked sail to be spilled on the cabin top and through the galley port. The galley is now soaked for the tenth time today, and that’s fine. Who needs a dry galley? I like my galley wet, water everywhere. Other than that huge excitement, I’ve just been sitting here listening to music, contemplating contemplations. I did go out and stand on the bridge deck for ten minutes. The cockpit is soaked, takes a wave every now and then, and is not inviting. It’s a mysterious night when it’s not raining. The sky is overcast with a swift-moving veil of clouds. The moon is visible through it. Obsession sails to the southwest at 6-7 knots. The wind stays at 20 knots. We are on a broad reach which is – hands down – my favorite kind of reach. Obsession sails gently save the once-a-minute whiplash snap rolls. Everything feels good. 760 miles to the intersection. I am entering the zone of the equatorial counter current, and isn’t that interesting? This is definitely going-for-the-gusto sailing. Very exciting. I hope I get some “quality” outside time tomorrow. I missed that today. I think a lot about my family. I miss them. I write by white light. Fooled you. All is well.

DAY 11 – Friday, January 29, 1999, 1:15 p.m. – 8º51’ N, 172º15’ W – Barometer 29.9 in., temperature 88º, wind E 15 knots, course SW, speed five knots. A gorgeous, tropical day. 1,141 miles from Kona, 703 miles to the intersection. Didn’t finally get up until 1:00 p.m. I think I have caught up on my sleep. Up a number of times – eight? – to deal with the boat. Twice we were hove-to – could have been for a couple of hours, so probably lost some time. So be it. This isn’t a race. The boat is in shambles, again, so have to clean up today, deck work, cockpit work. In a while. I’m still half asleep. Spyro Gyra is waking me slowly, nicely. More flying fish on deck this morning.

5:30 p.m. – I was just thinking that I would say what a laid-back day this has been, and I remembered all things I’ve done today as well. I guess I’m into a routine. In any event, the day has not been a strain, though I’ve done a lot. I’ve also kicked back a lot. I did clean the galley – washed/put away yesterday’s pots/pans/dishes, cleaned the counter, stove, sole. Moved the steering lines as I do every day. One day and they’re half eaten through, so I move them four inches. Now the poor lines look pretty pathetic. But they haven’t parted. Yet. Moved the taped preventor line where it chafes on the shroud. Cleaned flying fish off the decks. Inspected rigging. Adjusted steering a hundred times. The rest of the time? Music and head trips. Still having so much fun with my mind, I haven’t cracked a book. Just got hit by a wave – water over the boat – first one today. Ha, the hatches were closed. It’s warm here. I really took notice of it today. I woke up sweating and continue in that sticky state when down below. I’ll change sheets tomorrow – that’s after only three nights. I’ve got plenty. Just be a big laundry bill when I get there, that’s all.

I was standing in the cockpit doing what I do best: digging the scene – in the breeze but still sticky – watching a rain-filled squall approach when the obvious hit me. I went below and closed the hatches – that’s why they were closed when the wave hit – and returned to the cockpit, checking the temperature on the way: 84º. Of course, with the wind chill factor here in the trade winds it only feels 83º. I watched the rain approach. When it was 100 yards from the boat, I closed the companionway and stood on the bridge deck. The gray, equatorial squall hit. The wind increased and Obsession headed, but Doug held her down. It began to pour heavy, warm rain and I stood into it, barely able to keep my eyes open. It was magical. It felt like a 25-cents Magic Fingers in a Motel Six bed. A gentle but stimulating massage. Water ran down my face, chest, legs. My hair, by this time, was soaked. Obsession, heeled over 20º, threw gallons of water from the fold in the reefed mainsail when she pitched. I stood on the bridge deck and turned my back to the squall.

In the distance, to the west, the sky was painted electric blue with billowy bright-white cumulus. The water on my backside felt even better than the front. My legs continually flexed to the boat’s motions. Continual exercise, this sailing stuff. After ten minutes, the rain stopped and the squall proceeded downwind. I toweled off below, then finished with an air dry in the cockpit. I don’t feel sticky anymore. The sun has set – it is late dusk. There will be more squalls tonight. There were lots last night. An incredible day. I am loving this sail. The intersection is dead ahead – only 675 miles.

10:50 p.m. – We continue to fly. It has turned rough again tonight. The boat is getting thrown about rather violently. It’s rained twice more, and one squall – a 35-knotter – hit without rain. These often appear unannounced – seemingly out of nowhere. In a couple of hours we will dip below 8º North – that’s getting down there. Tomorrow I’ll see where our latitude is in relationship to other places. I’m sure we’re below the latitude of Panama. That’s as low as I’ve been before. We sail onward. It’s been a terrific day. I miss my family. All is well.

DAY 12 – Saturday, January 30, 1999, 1:30 p.m. – 7º8’ N, 173º46’ W. Barometer 29.95 in., temperature 81º, wind ExS 15, course SW, speed 5-5½ knots. A dreary, drizzly/rainy, gray day. 1,275 miles from Kona, 566 miles to the intersection. Up and down all night fighting the squalls. At 6:00 this morning, the overcast took over the sky and it has remained that way. A constant drizzle with a ten-minute rain every half hour. It is dreary. Never got more than an hour uninterrupted sleep. Was up for several hours this morning but caught another hour, 11:30 - 12:30. Woke up from that sleep in a funk. Was famished, even though I’d had cereal and juice earlier. So I cooked a big, hot lunch and ate that and still feel in a funk. Maybe overtired, maybe it’s the day, or maybe it’s just one of those days. Hopefully it will pass soon.

5:05 p.m. – It did pass. Think it just took me a long time to wake up. Brought the jib down – had two small tears at the head. Not surprising as it hour-glasses there constantly. Patched the tears and the sail still lays on deck – but ready to raise. Want to give the patch material time to – as the sailmaker’s say – “weld.” Problem is, sunlight is the welder and there’s none of that around today. That jib has had it. I think this will be its last sail. Went to charge the batteries and the brand new Honda generator won’t start. Have checked everything but the spark plug (I have a spare) and all seems okay. I have the old one for a backup, so I should be okay. In the meantime, I gave up and brought it below because a squall approached. Squalls and generators don’t mix. The wind is down to 10 knots, and with the jib down, we are only making four knots. I’ll put the jib back up after a while, after it has some more “weld” time. It is hotter every day. Today, very hot – sweating – on deck, and it is completely overcast. Overcast is merciful. I think the squall is passing behind us.

9:15 p.m. – A squall approached. It looked like it was headed right for us. I grabbed a cake of Ivory soap and climbed to the cockpit. It was a big squall. Black and nasty-looking and filled with rain. It got closer. I could see the surface of the sea boiling from the pounding raindrops. I gripped the soap – ready. The drizzle started, but the heavy rain stayed 100 yards astern. Then it was a 100 yards a beam. Then it passed. The soap wasn’t even damp. I came below and took a shower. The jib is raised again. Did it all by moonlight – not even a flashlight. And the moon hides behind a veil of clouds. But it’s full and it’s bright. Didn’t really pick up any more speed, but we’re not rolling as much. Hauled out the old Honda generator – it came with the boat – filled it with gas, pulled the cord, and it putts away in the cockpit as I write. I have left the reef in the main. It needs to come out, but my gut says leave it in. I’d rather not be reefing at 3:00 a.m. with it blowing 35 – so it stays for now. Actually, it’s perfect for spinnaker right now, but I’m not putting it up for the same reason the reef is staying in: I think it will blow later. Nice smooth ride right now. The seas and wind are down – but for how long?

10:50 p.m. – After a half hour it started to drizzle. That shut down electrical generation operations. God, it’s precarious enough dealing with gasoline, electricity, carbon monoxide. Both generators say all over them: DO NOT USE IN THE RAIN. DO NOT USE NEAR WATER. Do not use near water?? Whoops. It is still drizzling, and we plod along at barely four knots in a barely 10-knot breeze. This is exactly how equatorial weather is described in the books. Overcast, squalls, calms, etc. But I didn’t think we’d be in equatorial weather until further south – say, 2º. We’re still at 6½º – almost 400 miles north of the equator. Go figure. Guess this is why nobody sails down here. You never hear a sailor say, “Hey, let’s go do some equatorial sailing.” Never. Wonder why? We are now below the latitude of Majuro, which lies about 865 miles to the west. Now we begin to sail away from our end destination. It is raining real rain now and the cabin is closed up. It gets warm in a hurry like this. It is so-o-o refreshing when I open up again. The moon is no longer visible – hasn’t been for a while. But it is still bright out, the overcast backlighted by the full moon. It’s been a very challenging sail so far – very challenging. But I sense the real challenging sailing lays ahead. I feel super. I’m glad I’m where I am. I think of my family constantly. I dreamed about Graham last night. It was a very good dream. All is well.

DAY 13 – Sunday, January 31, 1999, Noon – 5º49’ N, 174º54’ W – Barometer 29.87 in., temperature 88º, wind ESE 10, course SWxS, speed 3½-4 knots. A beautiful, blue, hot tropical day. 1,377 miles from Kona, 462 miles to the intersection. Just up half hour ago. Stayed up ‘till 3:30 a.m. Why? Yes, that is the answer. Guess I’m just a night kind of guy. My, how the weather changes down here. Today is great, but we need more wind. There’s always something to whine about. The barometer is down today. My experience tells me this means the weather will either deteriorate, improve, or remain the same.

1:30 p.m. – Wind is down to 7-8, speed barely three knots. There is enough of a swell to knock the wind out of the sails every five seconds. I’d try the spinnaker, but I’m sure there’s not enough wind to keep it full with these sea conditions. The reef is out of main – not sure if that hurts or helps. Every hatch and port on this boat are open – it is 84º in the cabin. Rhapsody In Blue is playing now. I never tire of that piece. It must be Sunday. A fresher breeze is coming. I can feel it.

4:35 p.m. – A fresher breeze did come. I was right! Then . . . it went away. Hoisted the spinnaker – at the time, conditions seemed perfect. Then the breeze decreased and the swell increased and we rolled and rolled and rolled and the poor spinnaker couldn’t keep its air, so I took down. Back up with the main and jib and we continue to roll. Such is the life of a sailor. Honda generator is toiling away in the cockpit sounding like the gardener set down his leaf blower and went away. But this should finish charging for five days or so. Off the classical, now it’s Steely Dan Gold. The sea is aqua blue – aqua, that’s odd – and very inviting. The sun’s rays descend into it at angles. The water is clear, like tropical waters should be. There have been lots of schools of flying fish around today. Oddly, none on deck this morning. And, as I expected, some new kinds of sea birds. I’ve enjoyed spending some hours outside. It’s a great day.

7:00 p.m. – Weather-wise, the past 2½ hours have been squirrelly – had a little bit of everything. Lots of squalls, fair amount of rain. One of the squalls, it blew 30 – only for about five minutes – but it was intense with full sail up. I watched a squall appear in slow motion, out of thin air – like a movie fade-in. Had a rainbow for a few minutes – a wide colorful one. Had calms, the boat wallowing, the sails slating. Still drizzling right now a bit, but we’re sailing very comfortably right now heeled over five-degrees, a gentle motion – like a cradle - clipping along at 4-5 knots, red light glowing, music in my ears through the Walkman. This is my kind of sailing. Hell, it’s all my kind of sailing. Anyway, I have a good feeling, a very good feeling, a high state of joyousness. I suspect, though, that this will be a busy night. I can take it. For now, though, the “weather” appears past. To windward: billowy alto cumulus (the kind that bring more squalls) backlighted by the moon. Lots of clear sky. Downwind: nasty, black, so long to that stuff. For now. During one of the squalls, I tried to get a rinse. I got wet, but not washed off. So I came below and rinsed off in the shower.

After, I noticed the water wasn’t draining from the shower well. Obviously, the strainer was clogged, so I picked up the duckboard to clean it and found several tiny (2 inches) flying fish jamming the drain. Oddly enough, they were dead. Poor things. They had flown in through the head port, almost always open. First time for that one. Flying fish, other schools of small fish, bigger fish jumping, lots of sea birds – the ocean is very alive and very pristine here. Haven’t seen one piece of garbage – not one – nothing – since leaving Kona.

9:35 p.m. – It continues to be an idyllic, near-perfect sail. It is calm. The seas are about four feet and spaced far apart. There’s hardly any whitecaps. The moonlight is so bright you could (practically) read a book. The moonglow path on the sea looks like a flowing, sparkling river. Gosh, I just hate this. Awful. The sea is go grand. I love it out here. Still doubt if I’ll get through the night unscathed. Boy, conditions change fast down here. I could take it just like it is the rest of the way – all the way to Majuro. Pretty slim chance of that happening. Such is life. The breeze blowing through the boat feels so good. Everything right now is near nirvana. I’m thinking of my family. I miss them. All is well.

DAY 14 – Monday, February 1, 1999, Noon – 4º28’ N, 176º03’ W – Barometer 29.90 in., temperature 85º, wind E 12 knots, course SWxS, speed five knots. Another strikingly beautiful, blue/blue, hot, tropical day. 1,481 miles from Kona, 357 miles to the intersection. Another long, tiring night filled with squalls, calms, wind shifts. Didn’t go to “sleep” until after 3:00 a.m., then up and down another half-dozen times. For a while, it blew from the SW. SW! How rude. Sailing nicely now – a near-perfect day, albeit a touch warm, just a touch. I’m not complaining – better too hot than too cold. Lots of flying fish flying near the boat this morning. I feel great – alive. Today is Mom’s birthday. Thinking of her today.

12:35 p.m. – We are now in the last box. Actually got here at 3:00 a.m. this morning. It has been taking three days to pass through each of the last few boxes. So . . . three days? Time will tell. Now about 200 miles north of Howland Island – the island Amelia Erhart was supposed to land for fuel – but she never showed up. A famous island in Amelia Erhartism.

4:10 p.m. – Wow! A fantastic day, mostly pretty laid back/music/fine dining. The wind shifts fairly regularly so adjusting steering a lot. Big deal – 60 seconds. It is another window of calm, fair

Obsession