The Pacific Just Is

The ocean does not care if you are having a good day or a bad day. It does not care if you are tired of the scorching heat or the torrential rains or the relentless wind and waves. This was the first thing we learned somewhere out in the Gulf.

We are now around the twelfth day of this passage from Panama to Hawaii, roughly five thousand nautical miles of open Pacific to cross on Hazel with her crew of two. It has all become real. We are far from anything and anyone. Ahead of us, nothing but ocean in every direction. We cast off the lines in Panama with excitement and, if we are honest, a complete lack of understanding of what the Pacific truly is. The warm and fuzzies never last out here.

One day the sailing is glorious. The next, the ITCZ grabs you. That miserable belt of converging trades where the atmosphere forgets how to behave and hands you dead calm. The boat rolls violently in long, lazy swells rising from the Southern Ocean. Ten seconds between crests. Three meters high. The sails slap with cracks and snaps like rifle shots that rattle every joint in the rig and every bone in your body.

Then, as if the ocean remembers mercy for a moment, a fresh breeze arrives. Hazel lifts her shoulders and the wind crosses her decks like a gift from God. Dolphins appear, dancing at the bow, performing as if they know we need the distraction. You can almost hear them saying check me out, here comes my double flip with three twists. Is that a perfect score or what. You thought the Olympics were grand. Out here the Olympics happen every day, and the best athletes on earth live underwater.

Is the ocean alive and speaking directly to me? You can romanticize that idea all you want. Peter and I know better. The ocean keeps rolling, indifferent. No judgment. No forgiveness. It simply is.

Are the calms worse than the squall? We wedge ourselves into the cockpit and stare at a horizon that refuses to change. The introspection creeps in. What fool leaves everything and everyone behind to sail across this massive blue indifferent and unforgiving body of water? The ocean does not answer. It does not need to. It keeps breathing in its ancient rhythm, currents circling the globe, swells marching west, indifferent.

Hazel has now reached the trades. Yes, the wind has finally filled in. But at what cost? What surprises lie ahead? Are we running toward something or away from something? Maybe a bit of both.

The Pacific has swallowed armadas and it would swallow Hazel too if we make the wrong choices. It offers no comfort and no absolution. Only the raw truth. You are alone with your decisions and the only way forward is to keep moving and make smart choices hour by hour and day by day.

We are bruised, sleep deprived, thousands of miles from land and facing the longest passage on the planet. Yet the complete indifference of the Pacific is its greatest gift. The ocean is not cruel. It is not kind. It is indifferent. It just is.

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Better than the Olympics!

Not sure the beauty can be captured on a camera.

Running with the wind, volume up for narration:

Laundry Day!