Virginia, where I topped up the fuel tank and spent the night, I set off eastward the following morning, August 2, 2022, headed for the Azores.

I’d sailed for many years but in relatively protected waters removed from the ocean, like around Puget Sound and in te channels, island passages and harbors north of there. This was my first excursion offshore, my first time being underway alone at night, but fortified by naïveté and blind faith, I sailed on into the night, asleep in my bunk with the autopilot in command. It’s only water out there, a vast ocean, nothing to run into. The first night was peaceful, the second I was awaken by a brief, intense rain squall that had me scrambling up on deck with my headlamp on to reduce sails. By the time that was done the squall had moved on and I put the sails up again.

Since those first days I’ve learned a lot about sailing, especially ocean sailing. I’ve had so many adventures that the past year seems compressed, like how could all those things have happened?

Aside from the 3 month break I took at home this Spring, I’ve spend the other 9 months alone on Phywave.  I’ve landed on 4 continents (Europe, Africa, South America, and Antarctica) and in 6 countries (Portugal, Morocco, Spain, Brazil, Argentina and Chile). As I write this the boat’s trip log says I sailed a total of almost 17,000 nm. On the current passage I’ve sailed about 3,200 nm thus far from Puerto Montt with 2,200 nm remaining to arrive at Nuku-Hiva in the Marquesas Archipelago.

I’m sailing west across the Pacific into a setting sun,  a common sailor fantasy now real, though I still see the clouds above me as a pilot would, not a sailor. With thousands of hours flying solo in my small plane all over the world, I don’t think that will ever change. I wouldn’t want it to change.

The days now on this passage are similar, flowing together with no distinguishing features, the trade wind direction and speed finally fairly steady, a sky that suddenly clouds over then just as quickly brightens to brillant blue, seemingly at random, followed by recent nights lit up with a moon waxing full. It’s the upper half of a world that has the hypnotic, twisting rythmn of the waves beneath. And me in between.