If you love and absolutely can’t get enough of the words that boil over in the cauldron of my brain and flow down my arms to my fingers like zip-lining tourists in Costa Rica—I have some good news for you.
If you groan whenever you see an email from me via hjsailing.blog announcing a new post, but you’re too polite to unsubscribe because you think I’ll notice—I have some bad news for you.
If you’ve been following hjsailing.blog for awhile and have discerned that I write and post a lot more when I’m singlehanding and Rhett is not onboard—I applaud your acute sense of pattern recognition.
A month ago or so when the four of us (Rhett, Sunny, Hazel James, and I) were cruising along merrily in the Northern Sporades islands and Khalkidhiki peninsula in the Northwest Aegean Sea, I had the cute idea that my next blog post was going to be titled “24 x 7 x 31.” The gist of it would be how Rhett and I make our relationship work as we live together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, shoehorned into a 31-foot boat.
Occasionally when Rhett feels the need to vent to her best friend Maria about our latest relationship “challenges,” Maria’s wise counsel back to Rhett is along the lines of, “Give yourselves and each other a break! The two of you are together all the time in a highly confined space in very challenging conditions.” It’s very good widening-of-the-aperture advice for Rhett and me. In what we’re doing, it’s very easy to get wrapped around the axel of what’s happening onboard and miss the bigger picture (Or, should I say, “…wrapped around the prop shaft?”).
However, now as I sit back and look at that blog-title and associated theme, it all seems so quaint; so old fashioned. I say that because Rhett is now gone and Sunny went with her this time. They’re back in Florida and our season’s cruising plan has totally changed.
We had envisioned a “leisurely” clockwise circuit of the Aegean Sea this summer season, ending up back in the Athens area. The plan has now transformed into the beginnings of an intense westward trans-Mediterranean and transatlantic odyssey.
Somewhat similar to last summer (when Rhett had to get back to the US for several reasons, and Sunny and I sailed alone for six weeks), the combination of brutal non-air conditioned temperatures and other factors began calling Rhett back to the US. However, unlike last summer where we deemed the homeward travel as a temporary way to get around the hottest part of the summer, this year we’ve decided it best that Rhett not rejoin Hazel James in the Med for any length of time. With that decision made, it was logical that she take Sunny home too. So here I am alone with the prospect of singlehanded navigations of Colleen’s five-year death anniversary (August 21) and my 60th birthday (September 1).
Oh well, enough of feeling sorry for myself. Let’s dust ourselves off and consider the challenge and adventure shall we?…
When we started sailing this spring, our emerging plan for after the summer season was to winter HJ around Athens again and then, in the spring of 2025, our full complement of crew (I, Rhett, and Sunny) begin sailing westward out of the Mediterranean. We weren’t sure if we’d all cross the Atlantic east-to-west hoping to make landfall in the southern Caribbean in the early winter of 2025-26 or I’d do it solo. No worries though, we had plenty time and sea-miles to make that decision.
Now, given that we’ve had two consecutive seasons in the Mediterranean abbreviated by the gravity of home and that home is just so damned far away, we’ve also decided that we want to get Hazel back to North America. Unless I want to ship her across the Atlantic on a yacht freighter (which is a thing)—making the decision to get her back to North America is easier than actually doing it. But, of course therein lies the challenge and the adventure.
So, with that lugubrious preamble, I’m starting to work my way west with the goal of being in the Canary Islands off the coast of Morocco in November preparing for a 2,600 nautical mile transatlantic sail to Barbados in the Southern Caribbean. Oh by the way, it’s about 1,700 nautical miles from the Eastern Aegean (where I am now) to the Strait of Gibraltar and my exit from the Mediterranean Sea, then another 700-800 (hopefully orca-free) nautical miles from the Strait of Gibraltar to the Canaries. Doing the math of the Med exit and sail to the Canaries, that’s about 2,500 miles…just to reach the starting line.
I gotta say…as I re-read the previous paragraph, seeing it in black and white, the idea of “mailing” Hazel James back home (i.e., putting her on a yacht transport freighter with a bunch of other westbound boats) and flying home myself starts to sound pretty good. However, I’m known for ranting about other “sailors” who choose to motor 10 miles between anchorages on beautiful days with mild and favorable winds just to save a couple hours. Sure, I guess safety plays into it but I’ve also got to be true to myself. Finding an envelope big enough to fit Hazel, buying a rather expensive stamp, and dropping her into a post box somewhere in the Mediterranean would be the ultimate insult to my pride. The good news though it that it’s a good plan-B to keep in my back pocket. Also, in my time exiting the Mediterranean I’ve got lots of time to prepare Hazel and think about the long-hop from the Canaries to Caribbean.
Certainly more to follow on the adventure and I deeply appreciate you being on it with me.
Yesterday I had a beautiful 40 nautical mile sail from the island of Lesvos to an islet off the coast of the island of Chios. This afternoon, I’ll likely depart for an overnight to Mikonos.
If you keep abreast of our tracker over the next several weeks, you should see a seemingly gentle southwestern arc being drawn from the Eastern Aegean Sea to the three fingers of the Peloponnese Peninsula. I emphasize “seemingly” because these hot summer months are the apex of meltemi season in the windy Aegean. The meltemi is a strong north wind that blows for several days on end before easing. I’ll need to pick my sailing windows carefully (thus the planned overnight sail to Mykonos tonight).
It’s funny, when I’m sailing by myself for long periods of time my thoughts often drift to friends, family, and home. It’s comforting to know that you are out there and that together we’re all on our respective voyages, journeys, and adventures. Some are evident and plainly visible to others. Some—though invisible and buried deep inside—are just as real and often more intense.
Fair winds and following seas. Hazel James out.
PS: Some other good photos from the season so far…
