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Today we slipped past Guatemala and Honduras, and by late afternoon found ourselves off the coast of Nicaragua. This stretch has a reputation. Just last year, four sailboats were taken hostage by pirates between Honduras and Nicaragua, and overall pirate activity in the Caribbean jumped by fifty percent. We stay as informed as possible and follow every safety recommendation to the letter. Out here, that means keeping at least 125 nautical miles offshore, a buffer we have main

We have just wrapped up twelve hours of what can only be described as a flawless run. Ten knots of breeze on the beam, flat seas, and Hazel gliding along at an average of 5.3 knots. She held a steady six degree heel, just enough to feel alive and not enough to spill a drink. The sun stayed with us all day and we generated so much power that we actually broke out the ice maker. More on that saga shortly. After our 6:30 a.m. inspection, we re rigged Hazel for a full Genoa and M

As we continue pressing south toward Panama, Hazel currently has Belize off her starboard side and the Cayman Islands off her port. For the past 24 hours we have been sailing on either a close beam reach or a beam reach. In sailor speak, that means the wind is hitting the port side of the boat at roughly a 90 degree angle. I have included a visual for those who prefer pictures over jargon. The real complication is not the wind. It is the confused seas. A strong northern front

Apologies from the crew aboard Hazel. We have missed a few updates, and the number of photos for this episode is embarrassingly low. The truth is simple. We have been locked in battle with a very large storm, and none of us wanted to take electronics out of the cabin. Before we get to the chaos, there is good news. Hazel has officially crossed the magical line known as the Tropic of Cancer. More than two thousand years ago, ancient astronomers named this latitude after notici

Saturday drifted by in a search for wind. We made almost no progress, trapped in a classic Gulf doldrum, one of those slow swirling patterns the southern Gulf is known for. Before you even get there, you cross the Gulf Stream, which begins in part right here in the Gulf of America before sweeping around Florida and racing up the East Coast all the way toward Scotland. I’ve included a picture of it for reference. Inside the Gulf itself, the current runs about 3 knots in a wide

We are currently battered, bruised, and moving like men twice our age. We just came through a storm unlike anything I have ever experienced or ever want to experience again. For four straight hours we had sustained forty knot winds and twenty foot seas. In that kind of weather, the wind is so strong it lifts sheets of water off the surface and throws them at you like sideways rain. Hazel is now completely crusted in salt, and so are our foulies. At one point, a wave slammed i

It is 01:00 and the wind has climbed sharply. We are sitting in a steady 16 knots now, and the seas have grown into 4 to 5 foot rollers. The height is manageable, but the interval is brutal. Every three seconds another one hits, and the rhythm wears you down fast. I spent the last hour furling the Genoa, setting the Staysail, and putting a single reef in the main. Doing all of that alone in the dark is no small task, but it is done and Hazel is balanced again. Peter would nor

After a bit of early morning maneuvering to thread our way past a scatter of low islands, Hazel is finally under sail and heading southeast toward Panama. The moment the engine went silent, everything changed. Suddenly it was just the splash of water, the creak and groan of Hazel’s rig under load, the wind, and the occasional snap of a sail. That soundscape is a sailor’s dream. And then dolphins. A whole pod of them, pacing us, weaving through our wake, playing as if they had

At last, we slipped the lines, left NOLA behind, and pointed Hazel toward the Gulf of America. This time it was the real departure. The day began with an ominous mood. Winds were blowing at twenty‑five knots, the swells were large, and the wave chop was relentless. Sailing was impossible because the wind was coming straight at Hazel’s nose, which happened to be the exact direction we needed to go. In the shallow waters of the Mississippi Delta, there is no room to tack back a

It is amazing how one tiny bottleneck can bring an entire operation to a standstill. That is the essence of the Theory of Constraints, and Hazel delivered a textbook demonstration. As the photos show, a single 92 dollar part brought her to a dead stop on the water. The culprit was a Vetus ASD anti siphon. In simple terms, this little device allows seawater to mix with the exhaust to cool the Yanmar diesel engine through the heat exchanger. It is a one way flow system designed

There was great excitement to untie the lines and leave the dock to begin our journey. Hazel was ready for the challenge. Our plan was to exit Lake Pontchartrain and tuck in behind a small chain of islands for one last night before continuing on into the open Gulf of America. That was the plan. Plans change. Hazel had other ideas. Four hours into the journey, Hazel started spewing water everywhere. We spent about three hours trying to understand and diagnose the issue and mak

Preparing Hazel for Offshore It’s been a while. Hazel has been resting safely in New Orleans, but now it’s time for her to do what she was built to do, sail oceans. We’re finally ready to begin Phase II of our global circumnavigation. This next leg takes us from the Gulf of Mexico into the Caribbean Sea, with our first stop at Shelter Bay Marina in Panama. Based on the current weather forecast, the passage from NOLA to Panama should take about ten days, nonstop. From there, w

We Made It, Hazel’s First Chapter Ends at the Gulf. After 1,539 twisty, looping, snake-like nautical miles, we’ve reached the end of the mighty Mississippi. Hazel is docked, resting, and so are we. And yes, we both agreed: we’re never doing that again. Reflections from the River The upper Mississippi gave us moments of pure magic, solitude, beauty, and a kind of quiet joy that’s hard to describe. But as we moved south, that magic was increasingly paired with frustration, exha

Peter once quipped that sailing is 90% boredom and 10% terror. Well, Sunday morning delivered that 10% terror, at full volume. The day began in postcard fashion: clear skies, perfect temperature, and the kind of gentle morning that makes you believe the river is your friend. Then we rounded a bend and headed east. That’s when the fog rolled in. Visibility dropped to less than 40 feet. Hazel was now southbound, blindfolded, and barreling downriver. To make matters worse, a bar

The morning greeted us with grace, no wind, no chop, just a glassy river and golden light as we passed the charming town of Natchez, Mississippi. Hazel was eager to stretch her legs, and we obliged with nearly 11 hours of downstream travel. She handled it beautifully. If you recall, we’re working a four-day strategy to navigate New Orleans safely. Today marked Stage One: complete. Tonight, we begin refining the timing and logistics for days two through four. It’s a puzzle of

The weather was on our side again today: warm sun, gentle breeze, and skies that made you believe in good fortune. But docking Hazel? That was a different story. We attempted to tie off at a steel barge platform smack in the middle of a bend on the main channel of the Mississippi. The current was clocking in at 5 knots, sounds tame, but it felt like the river was flexing its muscles. Add in the chop from passing tugs, and Hazel became a handful. Precision was nearly impossibl

Today can only be described as glorious. If every day on the river were like this, I’m convinced everyone would be doing what we’re doing. After three straight days of wind and wet, this calm, sun-drenched stretch felt like a gift. We strung up a full clothesline to dry out our soggy gear, yes, we looked like a third-rate shanty town, but with no one around but tug captains, who’s judging? Speaking of tug captains, Peter and I have a theory: somewhere, a massive grain deal mu

Today was nothing short of a tempestuous thrill ride. If the rain wasn’t slapping your face like a rogue loofah, or worse, a Milwaukee sander, the wind was busy whipping up whitecaps and rolling waves with theatrical flair. We clocked a steady 27 to 32 knots, and despite the river’s serpentine twists, the wind somehow managed to stay stubbornly on the nose. Go figure. Progress was slow. Painfully slow. In contrast to past days when we reveled in current-assisted speed records

As we continued our journey downriver, Arkansas held steady to starboard, while the great state of Mississippi finally appeared to port. There’s something deeply satisfying about crossing into a new state, it’s a tangible reminder that we’re truly making progress, one river mile at a time. We’re always chasing records, and today we hit a new one: the Mississippi reached a depth of 65 feet beneath us. For context, the average channel depth along the river ranges from 20 to 50

Memphis dead ahead! I’ve got eyes on it! But before we roll into town, we’ve got a bit of river choreography to pull off: a 30-footer heading downstream, another 30-footer coming up, and Hazel caught smack in the middle of a squeeze play. The channel’s no ballroom, it’s tight. That striking arch up ahead is the Hernando De Soto Bridge, Memphis’s unofficial welcome mat. At night, they light it up like a showpiece, it’s a stunning sight. We lucked out with a secure overnight sp