​I’m sitting on a white leather couch in a Bermuda apartment, in air conditioning, following my first real shower in a week, barefoot, looking out over the bay.  The last 24 hours have been a total immersion into what can simply be described as a magical island.  How I have never considered Bermuda, or even found it on a map prior to this trip, was a total oversight.  Something tells me that this place will be a significant backdrop to the second act of my life.  I hope you enjoy...

​“Avocation, Bermuda Radio.  Good morning.”  A calm, English voice came over the radio at 12am, Bermuda Time.  We can see a white light on the south west side of Bermuda, shining out to sea.  A beacon to the 800 boats that reach the small British Island annually by sea.  An hour later, we spotted the light shining from the South East side of the Island, which is our target.  The breeze is right off our starboard stern, and we only have our main sail flying.  We realized this morning that we couldn’t make landfall before 12-1 this morning, so slowing down was our best option, to approach the island at daybreak.

​It’s 9pm, and I just came off my watch at the helm.  No, surprise, I’m tucked under the dodger, on the lee side of the cockpit.  This is the comfiest spot on the boat, as the heel pushes me gently against the dodger wall, and I’m snug.  We are about 220 miles from Bermuda, and plan to arrive by 3am Thursday morning.  Only one day to go, and yet, I don’t feel any urgency to get anywhere.  In some of the blue-water cruising books I’ve read, once you are 4 days at sea, and have adjusted, there is no difference between sailing another 4 days or another 4 weeks - it all feels the same.  I can see that now, and partly want to keep going. 

3am, Tuesday morning, back in my comfy spot in the cockpit, under the dodger.  Alejandro just took the helm from me, after another peaceful 90 minutes behind the wheel.  When I came up on watch with my coffee at 1:30, the sky was black, the stars hidden behind cloud cover.  As my watch progressed, I witnessed the moon rise in the east, and the clouds dissipate. I was able to chase the stars once again, as we ride farther north.  The winds are behind us, off to starboard, and the boat is peacefully riding the small swells and making around 7.5 knots.  We are over halfway to Bermuda, with 380 nautical miles to go - we should arrive by late Wednesday or early Thursday, if the winds hold steady at 18-20+ knots.

​​I’m writing this from the cockpit.  It’s 12:12AM (Monday Morning), and I just came off my 1.5-hour watch at the helm.  Alejandro, my watch partner, is now at the helm - I serve as backup and support to him.  I’m tucked under the dodger, guarded from the wind, but couldn’t be more at peace.  The last 90 minutes, hand steering our Swan, was the experience every sailor longs for.  The wind was constant at 18-20, still driven by the Trades this far south.  The sea state has finally settled into a 3-foot rolling lull, where it has been 5-10 feet the last 24 hours.  Bio-luminescence follows in our wake to stern.  These phenomena, which I don’t understand, looks like little fireflies trailing in the water.  To port and starboard of our stern, the same is true - wherever our boat churns up the water, these hundreds of little sparkles occur.  Our girls would love this.  

It’s 2am, and I can’t sleep.  I’m lying, or rather, rolling around in my top bunk, while the Atlantic winds howl through our sails outside, and the waves slam into the bow...next to my head.  In hindsight, perhaps this room wasn’t my luck.  We are headed almost straight north, and all the wind and waves are coming from the East.  I’m in the starboard bow (front right), which means the heel (lean) of the boat wants me to fall out of my bunk.  I have a “lee” cloth tied up, which is like a blanket tied under the mattress and then fastened to the ceiling above, cocooning me so I can’t roll onto the floor.  It’s obviously not creating the peace of mind I need to go to sleep, as I’ve been tossing around in my bunk since 2030 (8:30pm).  Great time to reflect on the day.