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Wow, what a day, woke to a beautiful island vista (San Miguel). Winds finally died enough to put the dingy together and head ashore. Had a nice play on the dunes and then decided to head back. Dingy nearly flipped trying to get over the breakers, then I got soaked taxing to pick up the kids. Later, on Convivia, gusts reached 35 knots and the swell picked up. We are now pretty sure that we’ll ditch our Channel Island plans and head for Ventura, just in case the local wisdom (High winds on I5 = Santa Anna winds on the water) is true. We should be able to post more from there (with pictures too)!

As I sped down the front of another steep swell, propelled by near gale force winds, in a fog so thick it dripped, I was visited by an old fear. It was not a fear of death, though some may have felt that. My fear was one of smallness, of cosmic insignificance. On a boat that is arguably ballasted with technology, I found myself dwarfed, humbled, by the milk water fog. With less than a quarter mile visibility at times, I was on constant vigil. All of our technology was not enough to see through the wall of white to the possible hazards beyond. For a moment I wished that we had radar (the one category of tech that we don’t have) and then a timid voice inside suggested that maybe my desire to conquer my fear through technology might not be all that dissimilar from, say, our culture’s desire to buy happiness. Perhaps, the voice pressed, there is no end to this compulsion to dominate nature, and perhaps there is also no end to nature’s dominion over us. Perhaps, and I’m going out on a limb here, we are insignificant in the cosmic scheme of things, and even our grandest achievements will only be noticed by us humans, and only for a small flash of time. ...

Standing here, at the refrigerator/nav station/electronics table, and reflecting on our first overnight passage, what strikes me most was how noisy it was. Not up top (in the cockpit) but down below. We started the day with a strong WNW breeze which soon turned into 15-20 knts of NW. This was perfect for our southbound passage and if it had not been for that square swell, we would have been in total heaven. As it was the boat handled admirably and we sailed most of the late afternoon and evening on just the genoa. By 1 am the wind had completely died and we had to turn on the engine. ...

They say no man is an island and as we embark on this adventure—replete with our water maker, mini solar farm, new high tech rigging, etc—I feel it is appropriate to acknowledge and give thanks to all the people who helped us get here. As a knowledge worker, my ability to fund this trip came from an excellent education. The formal education I received was one of the best in the world, but my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents all contributed to developing my intense curiosity, troubleshooting skills, and general competencies. Without these skills, and the reassurance that I could do anything that I set my mind to, I would never have been able to contemplate such an outrageous undertaking. ...

In lieu of a real post I present this photo montage of our last 3 days.

We did it! I can’t describe the ellation I feel right now as we bob around at anchor in Horseshoe Cove. We set the anchor around 4pm. With the sails already tended to, the only thing to do was flip up the solar panels and tidy up the lines. Then we all retreated to the cabin for coffee and UNO. We expect to get an early start to Half Moon Bay tomorrow, and then (weather permitting) continue on to Monterrey Bay on Sunday. Our original plan to go to Hardly Strictly Bluegrass this weekend was scrapped in favor of making some southbound miles before bad weather fills in early next week.

They came—finally—on the approach to the Bay Bridge. The saline evidence of a soul deep sadness that I have suppressed and longed for all week. This has been a week of goodbyes. A week of goodbyes, following another week of goodbyes on the East Coast. As my colleague and compadre of 12 years bade me an emotional goodbye on Friday, I felt my tears well up and then, mysteriously, they were squelched. I felt robbed. This week has been filled with replayings of that vignette; with a friend I’ve known almost as long as I’ve lived in California, to those who’s child I’ve seen birthed. Each time the tragedy of having to move away from these relationships that we have nurtured in order to pursue a life long dream, filled me to bursting. And yet, tears eluded me. ...

With just 4 work days between me and the life I have dreamed about, things are getting a bit hectic. We’ve been frantically dealing with last minute details like: shredding 25 hard drives and 26 backup tapes; buying a watermaker, swim ladder, coffee roasting drum; fleshing out the amazing first aid kit that Vick’s mom made with prescriptions etc; trying to cram in as much time with friends as we possibly can; etc. We are in a strange state of limbo that leaves us feeling neither excited nor particularly stressed. It’s hard to be too stressed when you are counting down to a dream life, and it’s hard to be excited when you have so much to do. Instead I find myself looking ahead and feeling brief moments of exhilaration which I quickly squelch so that I can stay focused. It’s like dreaming about someone else’s life. So in lieu of a real blog post, I’m going to drown you with some snapshots of the lighter moments of the last week. Stick with us. In just two short weeks I’ll be writing fascinating accounts of our trip south, replete with the full emotional bounty of the first days of our new life! ...

This photo roundup covers the going away party and a few other highlights. Enjoy

There is just nothing like a small New England Town. I am sitting in a coffee shop in Damariscotta Maine. This particular coffee shop is attached to a book store. The book store, though relocated, is the same one that got me hooked on reading as a kid. The first memory I have of reading is a summer memory. It was June or July and we were staying at my grandparents’ cottage. I tore through the ancient Hardy Boys anthology that seemed to have been read by generations of Bradford boys. When I got through with the last one a peculiar melancholy overtook me. My mother, wise parent that she is, took me into town to the Maine Coast Bookstore and introduced me to Ewan Walker, the owner. He asked me a few questions and started to recommend books. ...

There is a distinct playful, childlike pleasure to be found in sailing a small boat. Sailing a bigger boat is blissful, calming, empowering, but it requires serious prep, planning, and attention too. When Olive woke up on Monday morning and exclaimed “Today looks like a GREAT day for sailing,” I immediately petitioned the Interwebs for local friends with boats. You can imagine my elation when, a few hours later, a Facebook friend (Diana Roberts) offered up Liliana, a Herreshoff 12.5 (aka, Buzzard’s Bay Girls Boat) for our pleasure. ...

Our summer visits home to Midcoast Maine have always been transformative and inspiring. Slowing our pace and enjoying time together as a family reminds us how life is meant to be and helps us to refocus our energy on things that matter most to us. This trip, as short as it is, has been no different. Already we have been talking about possible change of itinerary, and certainly thinking of as many ways to return to this idyllic spot as we can. The future is as uncertain as ever, but being here reminds us to be mindful of the present. ...

Vick and the kids are heading to New England this weekend to start saying goodbye to all of our East Coast friends and family. I’ll follow a week later and spend a week and a half there before we all return to Convivia to start the 3 week countdown to casting off. At this point I’m suspended in this twilight zone between the elation that this new life brings, and the stress of leaving behind so much that we’ve built (in our communities, in our relationships, and at work) and the stress of what we still must do to get off the dock. I know that in 35 days, as we are provisioning for our trip south, things will look entirely different. I know too that in 60 days, when we are in Mexico and have settled into the new tempo of a cruising life, that things will look different still. What’s strange is that I have less perception of what those feelings will be than I have for almost anything else I’ve ever done, in spite of the fact that we have been planning to do this thing for 10 years. ...

A Friday ritual. A single photo capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. - via soulemama.

ManVan, I salute you. You drove a ton of boat stuff down from Washington, saving us hundreds on U-Haul. Then you helped us move from Mountain View to Emery Cove. You were there for shuttling stuff back and forth to the marina, and you’ve served us faithfully all these months as our nearby no-cost storage unit. When you wouldn’t start for me last weekend, I understood. You’ve been neglected, your fuel had been left too long, your headlights were probably left on by young, curious fingers. ...