The sun is hiding behind a thin layer of clouds, intermittently peeking out and shining down on the deck of our cottage, the “ruin”.  It’s Sunday Morning, and departure day.  In the next couple hours, we will be stocking up on needed provisions, and moving our crew from the two little cottages, perched on the hill overlooking St. George’s harbor, back to the boat.  We set sail around 1030.  There is so much to look forward to with the final passage back to the States, through the Gulf Stream, into the lingering remnants of a cold spring on the East coast, and all I can feel is a deep sadness in departing this magical island.  I know the last few days were imprinted in memory, and I will be nostalgic for this moment in my life forever...and yet, I’m still here, in the moment, knowing it must end and wishing it would not.  Strange feeling.

​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.