…sure, the alliteration is cute and catchy, but change the context slightly and this blog post title could be read as a medical condition. However, time is short and it’s fitting (as you’ll soon see), so I’m going with it.
I toss, I turn, I give up and give in to wakefulness. Rolling over in Hazel’s forepeak berth, I’m groggily reminded that I’m alone. But then I remind myself that I’m never alone. I have a wonderful wife, a family, so many friends—it warms my soul.
On both sides of the berth (bed) there are shelves secured by wooden rails that do a pretty good job keeping the clothes on the shelves, on the shelves when we’re underway and heeling. When sleeping in the forepeak (at anchor and in marinas) I have a ritual of buckling my digital watch to starboard-side rail so I can easily see what time it is. In the dark I fumble around for the watch, find it, find its backlight button and press…3:55 a.m.
If I had a “sleep bank” where I could make unlimited deposits and then withdraw against the deposits whenever I wanted, I’d sleep all day today and go into tomorrow’s sailing with my account replete with shuteye. But that’s not how it works. As a long-distance, singlehanded sailor, one of the most common questions I get is, “When do you sleep?” My stock reply: “Whenever I can.” It’s like all good humor…
We’re moored in the rather ramshackle but endearing Marina del Sole in Cagliari in the south of Sardinia. In its description, my pilot book states, “Portacabin toilets and showers.” I’ve come to learn that this means “the facilities” are perched above the water on wooden docks and covered by plastic tents. It’s kind of like camping at a low-budget family campground, not some glitzy national park. Oh well, the staff and other sailors are friendly, the shower water is hot, and the protection from the weather and waves is adequate.
I could blame being woken up on the wrong side of 4:00 a.m. on a squeaky spring that I have rigged on one of Hazel’s bow lines to absorb the shock-loads of swells, or I could blame it on the drunken skinny dippers a couple boats down, but that would be transference. The real reason is last night’s brain-swirl of looking at the miles I want to cover and direction in my next leg of sailing out of the Mediterranean, and overlaying the predicted winds and scratching my head when I don’t see a clear picture. On one hand I could wait for a better weather window—on the other hand, waiting for perfection would be waiting for forever.
In stepping back from the situation, I realize that this is not a new dilemma for me in the part of the sea and at this time of the year. September two years ago, Rhett, Sunny, Hazel, and I found ourselves in the eastern Balearic Islands (the Spanish archipelago of Mallorca, Menorca, and Ibiza) doing similar head scratching. We set forth from Menorca and made couple hundred mile and several day run to northwestern Sardinia encountering one pretty severe thunderstorm en route. We initially declared success on Sardinian shores only to find the stakes raised as we looked at our next sail to the Italian mainland (more about my 2022 thought process and our outcome of that sailing in our Piano Piano and Fortepiano posts).
I’m comforted thinking back to those times especially since, in the ensuing two seasons, I’ve learned so much more about sailing and specifically sailing in the Mediterranean. Now’, my next big goal is to make the Puerto Deportiva Almerimar (Marina Almerimar) on the Mediterranean coast of southeastern Spain. I’ve heard it’s a very good marina for prepping a boat for a transatlantic sail. I’d like to spend 10 days to two weeks there having Hazel pulled out of the water for some maintenance and inspection, and lots of other jobs and stocking up with spares and provisions.
Marina Almerimar is currently at a range of 600 miles. That’s a long sail but very doable with a consistent and favorable wind, and that’s the rub. As I look at the situation again and again, I may take my 2022 “piano piano” approach and instead sail for the Balearics, breaking the journey roughly in half without a whole lot of out-of-the-way sailing.
We’ll see. Applying some personal advice recently offered, I’m planning to set forth from Sardinia Friday morning, get out there and play it by ear as to my next landfall. Cagliari is tucked up in the Golfo di Cagliari (Gulf of Cagliari) in the southeast of the island and it’s a bit of sailing just to make the southern tip of Sardinia and start westing. A Friday morning departure should give me 24-36 hours of favorable wind to clear the coast and give me some sea room for whatever comes next. “Sea room”—that is distance from land—is important. If the weather turns snotty—sure, ideally you’d be tucked in port somewhere—but if that’s not possible, the second best option is to be far from land with room to maneuver without the threat of being blown into land. The good news is that, to start, there’s not much difference between the two routes. Initially I’ll try to head due west and keep my options open.
On a recent, rather plaintive relationship advice call, my best friend Mike told me, “Dan, I see it when you’re out there all by yourself. You overthink things. Don’t get stuck in those loops. Just keep it simple.” It’s sound personal advice and I think it will work for sailing as well.
Fair winds and following seas.
If all goes according to my departure plan, I’ll start my daily satellite micro-posts on the hjsailing home page Friday night or Saturday morning (September 6 or 7) and keep you apprised of status, progress, and decision making.
Other scenes from Cagliari:
