Day 1

Date & Position: Sat 8 Nov 2003, 1500UTC -- 35deg50'N, 006deg00'W; course 240degM; speed 6knots.

Weighed anchor at 0830UTC this morning. Boat is so heavy with fuel, water, etc., our waterline stripe barely shows! (Maybe I shouldn't have provisioned that second ton of chocolate.) As we left Gibraltar Bay we started feeling the slow rolling big Atlantic swell -- aah! -- back at sea! A pod of at least 50 dolphins gave us an escort for a few minutes, as our course coincided with their feeding route. As of 1500UTC, we have crossed the Gibraltar Straits shipping lanes (no problem, compared to Singapore) and are five miles off the coast of Morocco, heading in the general direction of the Canary Islands, about 720 miles SW. Wind is light and westerly, shifting northerly tonight. According to the charts, the 2-knot adverse current should disappear soon, and our speed will improve accordingly. All is well.

Day 2

Sun 9 Nov 03, 1700UTC (11 a.m. CST); 34deg13'N, 008deg27'W, course 238M (SW), speed 7.7knots, wind 3knotsT SW.

Last night the lunar eclipse kept me entertained my entire watch. At the height of it I was reminded that sailing on a pitch-dark night is a lot like running as fast as one can on a football field, blindfolded. There's almost certainly nothing out there to hit, but still . . .. Hurtling headlong into the darkness is a don't-miss adrenalin sensation. When the full moon finally emerged from eclipse, she was nearly bright as the sun has been lately in these latitudes. The water was gun-metal grey, silver and pearl.

We are motorsailing today in very light SW winds, 1-knot adverse current, and a 15-foot, smooth, rolling swell from the WNW. All is well.

Day 3

Monday 10 Nov 2003, 1800UTC (noon CST); 32deg30.7'N, 11deg07.3'W, course 235degM @ 7knots; wind N 8-14 knotsT.

As we sail south, the weather is starting to get a little warmer and a little drier. It has been get-dressed-under-the-covers cold and damp the past few days. Even Alan has been bundling up to go out on deck! The engine is off, and we are moving under easy sail on a broad reach. All is well.

Day 4

Tuesday 11 November 2003, 2300UTC (5 p.m. CST); 30deg31.63'N, 014deg27.11'W; course SW233M; speed 8 knotsT; wind 12-14knotsT NE; seas 6-12ft mixed swell from NE/NW; sky 100% overcast.

Last night the wind backed northeast (directly behind us), so at our watch change this morning we went wing and wing. That is to say, we attached the Genoa to a whisker pole and extended it all the way out to starboard. Then we released the boom and mainsail all the way out to port (securing it with a preventer to avoid an accidental jibe). The effect is a full press of canvas spread right across the boat. It is one of our favorite points of sail, not least because it's so darn pretty. :-) All is well.

Q: Which exact freq do I need to enter? 8.134 on LSB or USB?

A: For our sched at 0800UTC and 1730UTC on single-sideband radio (also called HF and/or HAM radio), punch in 8134.0 USB. We may change frequencies or times as we move across the Atlantic, and I'll post them if we do.

Day 5

Wednesday 12 November 2003, 1800UTC (noon C.S.T.); 29deg17.6'N, 016deg03.5'W; course SW230mag; speed 7 knots; wind 10-13 knots true ENE; sea 6-9ft swell from NE; sky 60% clear.

We have decided to call in to the Canary Islands briefly as we pass, so we have reduced sail to avoid arriving in the middle of the night. Since we had to motor through the doldrums the first couple of days out of Gibraltar, it makes sense to top up our fuel. Our fresh fruit and vegetables could use a top-up, too. If we buy fresh here, they may last at least halfway across the rest of the Atlantic. Then we'll start in on the canned green beans, boxed orange juice, dried fruit, and spare KitKats. (They do have Vitamin C, don't they??) Right now, Alan is crawling around the bilge ports trying to figure out why the main pump keeps running. I'm heading for my berth to get some off-watch sleep. Venus is already bright in the twilit western sky. And the mountains of Tenerife should be on the horizon by dawn tomorrow. All is well.

Day 6

13 November 2003, 1800 UTC (noon CST); San Sebastian Harbour, La Gomera, Canary Islands.

When the sun came up this morning, Tenerife was on our port bow. We continued on to La Gomera, to the harbour from which Christopher Columbus set sail to discover the New World. So we figure we´re on the right track. All is well.

Day 7

Friday 14 November 2003, noon, Puerto de San Sebastian, La Gomera, Canary Islands.

In the small world category, we stepped ashore yesterday and ran into about a dozen voyagers we have met at various places in the world, all congregated here to catch the tradewinds for Florida or the Caribbean. Lunch was at a tiny local restaurant -- the kind of place where Mom doesn't so much take your order as tell you what you'll be having; Dad brings pitchers of red wine dispensed from a large barrel in the corner; and Grandma delivers your food from the kitchen. Some of us spent the whole afternoon there exchanging weather information and radio frequencies, planning the crossing, and -- ok -- trading increasingly boisterous sea stories.

One point we could not escape. Today is Friday. And as every sailor knows, it is the worst possible luck to leave harbor for a major voyage on a Friday. Not one of us believes it. Not one of us is leaving harbor today, either. All is well and, we hope, lucky for a departure this weekend.

Day 8

Saturday 15 November 2003, 1800 Canary Islands local time (noon CST), Puerto de San Sebastian, La Gomera, Canary Islands.

Alan spent most of yesterday figuring out why the bilge pump keeps running. (Water was seeping into the main bilge from the anchor locker.)

A special thanks to Sea Witch for postponing their departure to help us make that crucial repair today. While they were working hard, I strolled around the Saturday market in San Sebastian town square and topped up our fresh provisions. We'll have one more (!) passage departure celebration with other voyagers tonight and set sail tomorrow morning. Our course follows the wake of Christopher Columbus -- southwest until we pick up the tradewinds, then due west until we make landfall. America or bust!

Day 9

Sunday 16 November 2003, 1830 (12:30 p.m. CST), 27deg43.26'N, 017deg42.65'W; course SW; speed 11 knots through the water, 9.9 knots over ground.

If I were at all diligent about checking my bio-rhythms or horoscope or numerology or feng shui or whatever, I would have known that today they all surely would have said "sit still and do nothing." We left harbor at the crack of noon (our usual "early" start) -- so far so good. Two hours out, though, Alan's toilet backed up and started leaking in gushes. Just about the time he fixed the toilet and we got the carpet washed and hung on the lifelines to dry, the wind started howling and the waves started growing. About that time, an inter-island ferry on a collision course got our full attention. Twenty minutes later we were in the worst gale we've seen in two years -- 45-knot winds and 20-foot breaking seas. The foam blew horizontally over our heads. From the cockpit, we could look straight up at waves that broke over the dodger. We turned and ran south with the wind directly astern, under a scrap of main and jib. In retrospect, we believe the gale was a fringe effect of a low-pressure area well north of us in combination with a "wind acceleration zone" common to the Canary Islands.

Whatever it was, it lasted only a couple of hours. We're still running under triple-reefed main and jib (just in case), but we're back on course in less than 30 knots of wind and reasonable seas. The newly cleaned carpet that was hanging on the lifelines, however, is history. And I'm going off-watch to my lee-berth to sit still and do nothing. All will be well in the morning.

Day 10

Monday 17 November 2003, 1900 UTC (1 p.m. CST); 26deg21.7'N, 020deg12.2'W; course 253degT/262degM; speed 8.5 knots; wind 15 knots NE; sails wing-&-wing.

Well, yesterday's gale is long gone, and the sailing has been excellent today. We had no damage, apart from the tragic carpet casualty and our usual passage complement of minor bruises. This afternoon about a dozen small gray spotted dolphins kept us company for half an hour. Alan and I were hooting and laughing our fool heads off, watching them leap from the tops of the highest rollers and give little wiggles mid-air. What a show. It is sunset now, and the horseshoe of horizon ahead is spotted with clouds and curtains of rain. I'm guessing there are clean decks and full water tanks in our future. All is well.

Day 11

Tuesday 18 November 2003, 1800UTC (noon CST); 25deg46.7'N, 022deg30.36'W; course 231degT/241degM; speed 3.2 knots; wind ENE 7 knots.

Was it only a couple of weeks ago that I was worried about not enough happening every day to write about? Amazing. Today there were two rainbows, one of them horizon to horizon with both its feet in neon white cumulus. It looked like the entrance to Heaven.

And at about two o'clock this afternoon, we blew out the clew of our mainsail. A noble performer for 30,000+ nautical miles, our mainsail today showed unparalleled courtesy in waiting for calm seas, light winds, and clear skies to part company with the boom. Had it happened in high winds, the main would surely have flogged itself to shreds before we could have gotten it under control. Alan is now suspended from the mast effecting the repair, which involves replacing the kevlar mesh connecting the clew to the clew block. The repair would take an hour in a sail loft, but looks to be about two days' worth of work by hand underway. In the meantime, without our mainsail we are drifting along under jib alone. V-e-r-y slowly. But then, if we were in a hurry we would have flown. :-) All is well.

Day 12

Wednesday 19 November 2003 @ 1615 (10:15 a.m. CST); 24deg15.5'N, 24deg31'W; course 242degM over ground; speed 6.2 knots over ground (motoring at 2200 rpm for max fuel efficiency); sky 50% clear, 50% cumulus.

Well there's not a breath of wind out here. Which is just as well, considering we have no mainsail! The clew repair is nearing completion, though, and we've started whistling for a breeze. A weather report on single-sideband radio called for possible easterlies in the vicinity of 20 degrees north latitude, 30 degrees west longitude, so we're motoring in that general direction while working on the main.

Today saw more small spotted dolphins, more rainbows, more limitless gently rolling rippling shiny dark blue water. Rain showers peppered all horizons, but only a few crossed our path. There is an ancient and more insightful version of "have a nice day" that goes "may no new thing arise." And today, blessedly, none did. All is well.

Day 13

Thursday 20 November 2003 @ 1800 (noon CST); 22deg44.31'N, 026deg27'W; course 243M over ground; wind E @ 6-12 knots; speed 5-8 knots; sky 60% clear.

Oh glorious. Conditions became perfect today to fly the spinnaker, and we're skimming along a calm sparkling sea. It feels like drifting in a hot-air balloon — weightless, silent, thrilling. This light easterly breeze may not last long -- we're not in the tradewind belt yet -- but for today it brought home all the things I love about sailing. And did I mention that it's glorious.

Today's wildlife count includes a seabird a long way from home; one lone tiny flying fish; and yet another pod of spotted dolphins, who raised up and cocked their heads to watch us as we moved around the decks setting the spinnaker. A couple of hours ago I started hearing some odd noises (whistling, haunting sonorous calls, grunts) that reminded me of — could it be — whales?? For twenty minutes I raced from one side of the cockpit to the other with the binoculars, scanning for spume, for flukes. Nothing. I gave up and went below, where the noises became louder. Yep, it was Alan on the pilot berth, snoring away. All is well.

Day 14

Friday 21 November 2003 @1800 (noon CST); 21deg22.1'N, 028deg17'W; course 243M over ground; speed 6 knots over ground (motoring at 2000 rpm); wind 0-2 variable; sky 100% overcast, scattered light showers.

No wildlife today. And apart from a ferry in the Canary Islands, we haven't seen a boat or ship or other evidence of human existence since we departed La Gomera last Sunday. Still, we scan the horizon every 12 minutes looking for traffic or obstructions. One of the two of us is always awake and on watch. In addition to looking for traffic, the on-watch person makes any sail changes, navigation changes or calculations, radio contact, etc. And every two hours, whoever is on watch checks everything that's in use and makes a detailed log entry.

After the first three or four days on a long passage, our minds and body clocks adjust to the watch schedule (7 hrs on, 7 hrs off, 3 hrs on, 3 hrs off, 2 hrs on, 2 hrs off, repeat). After that, time seems to take on a different feel. Without getting too Zen on you, I would say that time doesn't feel like it passes. It doesn't feel like it's Thursday or lunchtime or bedtime or time to do this or that. It's either my watch, or it's Alan's watch, back and forth, watch and watch. Patrick O'Brian, master of the sea novel, describes it much better: "The unvarying routine of the ship's day . . . obliterated both the beginning of the voyage and its end, it obliterated even time, so that it seemed normal to all hands that they should travel endlessly over this infinite and wholly empty sea, watching the sun diminish and the moon increase." All is well.

Day 15

Saturday 22 November 2003 @1645 (10:45 a.m. CST); 20deg22.17'N, 030deg04.49'W; course 269M over ground; speed 5.2 knots through the water and over ground; wind E 7 knots true, 2 knots apparent; sky 60% clear with many cumulus clouds; barometric pressure 1014.

Winds are still extremely light (from time to time nonexistent) and predicted to be so for another day or two. This morning we implemented a new sail plan, and it's working very well in the light air. The asymmetrical gennaker is flying to leeward (port) with a poled-out 130% Genoa to windward.(starboard) in a classic double-headsail "butterfly." In 7 knots of true wind (2 knots over the boat), we are maintaining a speed of more than 5 knots. If we're not careful, we'll pass ourselves. :-)

I have seen no wildlife today with the exception of Alan, who says for me to say that he saw 7 whales, 6 ducks, a pony, and Elvis in a ski-boat. I think he may have spent the day cloud-watching. At least, I hope so. All is well.

Day 16

Sunday 23 November 2003 @ 1900 (2100 UTC; 3 p.m. CST); 19deg44.4'N, 032deg27.5'W; course 257M over ground; speed 8 knots through the water/7.5 knots over ground; wind E 12-14 knots true; sky 80% overcast (cumulus); barometric pressure 1015.

We have now traversed two time zones (15 degrees of longitude each) since leaving Gibraltar. I knew it was time to change the ship's clock when I noticed the sun still hadn't risen at the end of my watch this morning, close to 9:00 a.m.!

Two other quick notes: 

(#1) When flying a spinnaker, always tape-lock the spinnaker halyard snap-shackle to prevent the shackle from opening accidentally and plunging the spinnaker dramatically into the sea; and 

(#2) Always marry a man who, with a smile on his face, will haul a soaked spinnaker aboard and then climb to the masthead seventy-five feet above a rolling Atlantic swell to retrieve the spinnaker halyard if you forget to do #1.

We are now zipping along on a good downwind course in what might be (fingers crossed, knock wood) the tradewinds. All is well.

Day 17

Monday 24 November 2003 @ 1715 (1915 UTC; 1:15 p.m. CST); 19deg21.5'N, 035deg10.3'W; course due west; speed 9 knots; wind E 17-20 knots; sky 70% clear with isolated cumulus; barometric pressure 1015.

We have definitely found the tradewinds (yay!) and are moving at a good course and speed, wing and wing. The seas are a bit sloppy. Although the waves are moderate in size (4-12 feet), they are choppy and coming from astern and both quarters. Our sails propel us over and past many of them. Still, think bath-toy in the jacuzzi. But it feels so wonderful to have wind in the sails and the sun on my face. Today I saw hundreds of flying fish moving in schools (flocks?) across the wave tops. All is well.

Day 18

Tuesday 25 November 2003 @ 1900 (2100 UTC; 3 p.m. CST); 19deg12.14'N, 38deg08.93'W; course 269M/254T over ground; speed 6-8.5 knots; wind ENE 10-16; sky 90% clear; barometric pressure 1017.

The sun has set, but the sky is still discernibly blue. Off the port bow the moon is a perfect mother-of-pearl crescent, with the full black sphere visible in relief.  Venus is accessorizing like a Cindy Crawford beauty mark. To the south, Castor and Pollux and Betelgeuse look like airline heavies on final approach. Already the constellations are thick with stars. I will probably spend my watch tonight exactly like I spent it last night — staring into the Milky Way towards Sagittarius to the center of our galaxy. What is so huge that it is unprocessable is that I can see whole other galaxies as well. And I love this feeling of being part of everything that there is and also being a speck on a nit on a flea on a tick on a hair of an ear of the smallest field mouse in the jungle.

Day 19

Wednesday 26 November 2003 @ 1515 (1815 UTC; 12:15 p.m. CST); 18deg52.87'N, 040deg10.77'W; course 270degT; wind E 4-6 knots; speed 6-8 knots; sky 80% overcast (cumulus and cirrus); barometric pressure 1016 and steady.

Everyone always wonders how Columbus managed to navigate his way to the New World with the primitive resources available to him. I wonder how he managed his laundry. Our little washer/dryer combo, though a godsend at anchor, does not drain or spin on the typical heel or roll we experience underway. So we can't use it. I actually have fun playing frontier housewife with a big bucket of fresh heated water on the aft deck, but the problem is drying. If I hang the clothes and towels on the lifelines, they will be stiff with sea spray in an hour. If I hang them in the cockpit, they are very much in the way if we have to make a sail change. If I hang them below, they will still be wet when we arrive in Florida in December. I guess the only answer is to wear fewer clothes. Maybe Columbus was a nudist.

The wind has died (the forecast says temporarily), and we are still under a butterfly rig making slow but steady progress on course. ETA Florida (knock wood) is sometime between December 10th and 14th. All is well.

Day 20

Thursday 27 November 2003 @ 1830; 17deg41.14'N, 042deg54.47'W; course 260T over ground; speed 7-9 knots; wind ESE 15-20T; sky 100% overcast; barometric pressure 1013.

Happy Thanksgiving! We had a toasted cheese sandwich and an apple, and will look forward to a proper turkey dinner at Christmas. Today we are thankful that the adverse current that has annoyed us for several hundred miles has disappeared, and the wind has filled in from the ESE. Seas are getting lumpy again, but we're happy to pay that price for better wind. At dusk just now, with increased wind and dark clouds on all horizons, we socked the gennaker and put up the main to go back to our (reef-able) wing-and-wing configuration for the night. All is well.

Day 21

Friday 28 November 2003 @ 1800 (2100 UTC, 3:00 p.m. CST); 17deg22'N, 045deg17.17'W; course due west; speed 6.5 knots; sky 70% clear; bar 1011.

Hoo boy I could sleep for a week. As expected when we saw storm clouds on the horizon at dusk yesterday, we were visited by several squalls during the night. Coming at you, they look like cartoon monster rampaging jellyfish, with a black cloud atop tentacles of rain. And they move so fast that there's no chance of evasion. At least these carried no lightning. I'm glad we doused the gennaker, so that we could reduce and increase sail as needed to counteract the wind. No problem. Today was a rest day, though, after a very active night; and we did no tasks unless strictly necessary. Right now I'm looking forward to a full 6 hours of uninterrupted (I hope) off-watch sleep. All is well.

 Day 22

Saturday 29 November 2003 @ 1800 (2100 UTC, 3:00 p.m. CST); 17deg50'N, 47deg38.57'W; course 310M/292T over ground; speed 6 knots (motoring); rain; bar 1010.

It has poured rain most of the day today. I feel like I've gone through a carwash with the windows down. (And I look like it, too.) Although our clear-vinyl enclosure keeps the elements out when zipped shut, we have to open it up to trim and change the sails. Moreover, we have had to go out on deck several times to set the preventer, un-foul the furling line, check the whisker pole, etc. And it is pouring, pelting, dumping, sheeting rain.

At this point the rain, sea and sky have sort of blended together. The world is grayscale. Rain has pounded the waves flat, and the ocean is an oily polished metal. There is a dreamlike quality to it — no horizon, no visibility, no sound but water. Well, no sound but water and the engine. After several hours of an exhilarating sail on the 25-knot winds at the leading edge of the showers, we have lost the wind entirely to the downpour. But on the bright side there's hot beef stew and cornbread for dinner. All is well.

Day 23

Sunday 30 November 2003 @ 1945 (2245 UTC; 4:45 p.m. CST); 18deg45.47'N, 50deg07.52'W; course 254degM over ground; speed 7 knots over ground; wind NE 11 knots; bar 1013.

It continued to rain all last night and most of today. Now I know why the ocean seems to be so full of water all the time. :-) Tiny bit of blue sky dead ahead, though. All is well — a little soggy, maybe, but well.

-----------------------------------------------

Q: We are interested in your watch system. What time do you start your rotation? Does each of you try to get one longish sleep? Do you set it up so each gets part of the night during the 7on/7off?

A: To your last 2 questions, the answers are yes and yes. Our watch schedule goes like this:

0900-1200 Alan 3-hr watch

1200-1500 Liza 3-hr watch

1500-1700 Alan 2-hr watch

1700-1900 Liza 2-hr watch

1900-0200 Alan 7-hr watch (Liza 6-hr sleep)

0200-0900 Liza 7-hr watch (Alan 6-hr sleep)

Although the long night watches are 7 hours, we find that the off-watch person can get only about 6 hours of actual sleep during that time. Almost an hour is usually consumed in making any sail changes that require us both (which we try to do only at watch changes), winding down, cleaning up, falling asleep; and then on awakening, getting dressed, making coffee, etc. Many doublehanded voyagers successfully use a 4-on/4-off schedule in which each person gets only 3 or 4 hours of sleep at any one time. That would make me . . . really cranky. We have used our system since crossing the Pacific in 1999, and we fall into the routine automatically when a passage gets underway.

Day 24

1 December 2003 @ 1800 (2200 UTC, 4 p.m. CST); 17deg21.4'N, 052deg16.4'W; course 254M over ground; speed 7.5 knots; wind NE 10-15 knots true; seas 1-6 feet; sky 60% clear; bar 1012; ship's clock UTC-4.

For the past 72 hours we have been monitoring a weather situation. The ten-day forecast models show a cyclonic low pressure area forming south of Puerto Rico and spinning NE along our route to Florida. If the models are correct, sailing won't be the most intelligent thing to be doing in that general area. So this morning at our decision point we activated Plan B, made a hard left, and will make landfall in -- oh darn -- the Caribbean instead of North America. I spent my watch this afternoon thinking about warm bright turquoise water, white beaches, an astonishing variety of rum drinks, callaloo, parrot-fish, steel drums, a foredeck hammock, and sentences that end with "mon." Even if it's only for a little bit of an extra island while (perhaps "reprise" is the right word) before we move off the boat early next year, I'm very excited about Plan B. And I swear I didn't doctor those weather forecasts before I showed them to Alan. Really.

Our circumnavigation will be official when we cross the Caribbean track we sailed in 1998. (!) All is well.

Day 25

Tuesday 2 December 2003 @ 1800 (2200 UTC, 4:00 p.m. CST); 15deg48'N, 054deg34.2'W; course 252M over ground; speed 7 knots over ground; wind E 8-12; seas slight; sky 60% clear; bar 1011.

It would be easy to believe in UFOs if I didn't know that the big flashing red and white light hanging low in the southwestern night sky is Mars -- appearing and disappearing behind filmy clouds. It would be easy to believe in sea monsters and mermen if I didn't know that what I often catch out of the corner of my eye are waves just being waves. It would be easy to believe in omens if I didn't know that the calm seas and fair weather we've had since the hour we changed course yesterday are mere coincidence. Today was pleasant and peaceful here on the Atlantic. Thanks for all the good thoughts. All is well.

Day 26

Wednesday 3 December 2003 @ 1800 (2200 UTC, 4:00 p.m. CST); 14deg12'N, 056deg52'W; course 251M over ground; speed 7-10 knots over ground; wind E 13-23 knots true; seas 3-12 feet; sky 95% clear; bar 1012; sails wing-and-wing, with poled-out full jib to port and single- reefed prevented main to starboard.

Great wind, outstanding sunny day of sailing. Lumpy seas, though, bumpy and choppy. When we move around the boat, it's handhold to handhold -- with the occasional lunge and miss, bam, whomp, stub and bruise. How Alan manages to shave every day (well almost every day) I have no idea. I had a go at my legs and stopped just short of requiring a tourniquet. And while we're on a topic that is almost certainly more than anybody wants to know, why on earth don't marine toilets come with seat belts? The beauty of lumpy seas, however, is the weightless sleeping. Our pilot berth is enclosed on one side by a bulkhead and on the other by a lee cloth; and both sides are well-padded with pillows. When the boat glides down a swell or bumps along a choppy crest, one's body actually rises above the berth and seems to float for a bit before re-settling. About half the time, one is either rising up or floating. It may not quite be outer-space weightlessness, but it's phenomenally restful. I'll bet there's a market on land for a mechanized sort of padded enclosed trampoline-bed.

OK, maybe not.

Every night the moon gets a little fuller, and every day the air gets a little more tropical. All is well.

Day 27

Thursday 4 December 2003 @ 1630 (2030 UTC, 2:30 p.m. CST); 12deg25'N, 59deg23'W; course 250M over ground; speed 9-11 knots; winds E 22-30 knots true; seas 6-15 feet; sky 60% clear; bar 1010; sails wing-and-wing, with single-reefed jib poled out to port and single-reefed main prevented to starboard.

Yee-haw! Now this is sailing! We've had excellent wind for 36 hours, and a record 24-hour run is within reach. Midnight to noon we did more than 100 miles over ground, and the wind has only gotten better. ETA Trinidad (knock wood) is tomorrow afternoon.

And speaking of landfall, our decision to change course for the Caribbean has turned out to be a good one. The low pressure area that we wanted to avoid has matured into Tropical Storm Odette. If we had continued northwest to Florida, our route would have joined Odette's path, and we would have had a very, very bad week. Oh how I love 21st Century electronics. A decade ago, even with state-of-the-art equipment, we would not have had access to the long-range weather models that warned us in plenty of time to divert to a good alternate landfall.

We are starting to get really excited about completing our circumnavigation. Can't believe it. All is well.

Day 28
Friday 5 December 2003 @1800 (2200 UTC, 4:00 p.m. CST); Chaguaramas Bay, Trinidad.

We made it! At dawn this morning the island of Tobago was fine on the port bow. At around noon we crossed our track from 1998 to make our circumnavigation officially complete. A couple of hours ago we pulled up to the customs dock in Chaguaramas Bay, Trinidad. And about ten seconds ago, Alan handed me a glass of champagne.

I feel - how do I feel - I feel totally exhausted, sore, a little stiff, with various body parts telling me they are not amused at being banged and crunched; and I could definitely use a shower and some clean clothes. I feel grateful for getting across the Atlantic safely and around the world safely. I feel humble that I have crossed three oceans; and in awe that such a dream could come true. But mainly I feel, mainly I feel . . . [OK think James Brown here, add a little music, and] . . . WHOA, I feel good (nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh). Like I knew I would now (nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh). I FEEL good (nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh). Like I knew I would now (nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh -- buhmp buhmp). SO GOOD (unh, unh). SO GOOD (unh). I got you (unh unh unh unh unnnnnnh) . . . WHOA . . . . (repeat ad lib until champagne runs out or one falls asleep standing up.)

Here's hoping that your dream comes true. Cheers! All is well. And good night.

Photographs of Atlantic crossing