Raw & Unfiltered
Out here on the open Pacific, a thousand miles from the nearest land, the masks we wear in everyday life don’t last long. An ocean crossing has a way of stripping you down to the truth of who you are and how you behave when it matters most.
There is no audience on a small boat in the middle of nowhere. No one to impress, no social script to follow, and nowhere to hide when things go sideways. The ocean simply is. Indifferent, powerful, relentless. It does not care about your reputation, your plans, or the version of yourself you prefer to present. It only cares about how you respond in the moment.
Take the practical realities we have faced lately. A whisker pole snaps clean in two with a sharp crack during a sudden wind shift. An asymmetrical spinnaker wraps itself tightly around Hazel’s standing rigging, turning a beautiful sail into a knotted problem that demands hours of patient work to free. Second-degree sunburn stings with every movement, a reminder of one careless lapse. Water rationing begins as the tanks drop lower than expected. Fresh food spoils in the heat and motion, and you toss it overboard with a sigh. Sleep deprivation becomes a constant companion. A night squall appears out of nowhere. One minute the wind is at your back at 12 knots, and 60 seconds later it clocks onto your beam at 35.
In those moments, your true character surfaces fast. Do you stay calm and methodical, working the problem step by step? Or does frustration flare, shortening your temper and pulling words from your mouth that you would never use on land? When fatigue settles deep in your bones and the swell keeps rolling, do you make clear decisions, or does exhaustion cloud your judgment?
Peter and I have seen it in each other, and more importantly, in ourselves. The strange part is that it is easier to forgive Peter than it is to forgive myself. When I show poor judgment, poor timing, or make a flat-out mistake in a sail plan, rigging setup, or route call, the self-criticism hits harder than any wave.
Ocean sailing does not build character as much as it reveals it. The risks are real: equipment failure with no help coming, unpredictable weather, physical exhaustion, and the mental weight of knowing you are entirely responsible for yourselves and for Hazel. There are no shortcuts, no quick fixes from shore, and no one else to blame when something breaks. That exposure is humbling and strangely liberating.
You discover whether you are patient or short-tempered. Whether you lean into resourcefulness or spiral downward. You learn how you handle the knowns and unknowns, not in theory, but when the horizon is empty and the next squall is building on the radar. The deep blue of the open ocean can be breathtaking one moment and overwhelmingly isolating the next. Your reaction to both says more about you than any conversation on land ever could.
There is freedom in this kind of honesty. Without the usual distractions and comforts of life ashore, what remains is the essential version of you, the one who keeps the boat moving west, mile by mile. It is not always pretty, but it is real.
We are still learning these lessons every day. The Pacific keeps teaching, and we keep listening.
So if you want to conduct a true self-assessment, take a sailboat across an ocean. Something about long passages exposes your raw, unfiltered nature. You may not like all your actions, thoughts, behaviors, or words. But when everything is on the line and it is just you and the ocean, you may surprise yourself. I have found parts of me I never knew, and they give me pride. I have also found parts I do not like, and those are the ones I must work to improve.
A flawless seven‑hour night sail, plus a snapshot of the chart showing the 03:00 Monday squall alert.
Not a bad place to wash dishes..
After nearly forty‑five minutes of pure muscle and mayhem, the beast finally turned, flicked his head, and snapped our 89‑pound test line like it was sewing thread.
Volume ON for narration on night sailing-
Finally, a baby mahi-mahi, did somebody say tacos?
I so agree with Dave…BEAUTIFUL evocative thought provoking writing and the photography and videography- thanks so much for sharing.
I love the narrative and videos. It's very insightful.
Paul, I’m so impressed with how your in depth descriptions give us a “real” feel for your adventure.
Praying for the crew of Hazel! I love the narrative, photos, and especially the video, Paul.
Your introspection and deeply personal description of the experience is touching. Thank you for sharing that because the voyage within is equally as interesting as the outer voyage itself. I worry about your water and hope that the squalls can help replenish your tanks, or at lease hold in a bucket or Jerry can. Hope you can rig a tarp or something to help catch it when it comes. Prayers!!!
Thanks Paul, we should all be as blessed as you to go out on the high seas and receive so many prayers for provision, protection, and wisdom! In your consideration of your character, may I suggest this quote from a good book I read… from Jeremiah 17
“Thus says the Lord: “Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the Lord. He is like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see any good come. He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land. “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree…