Day 1: Casting Off From California – Let's Do This!
Alright, here we go. First official day of my solo circumnavigation, and I still can't believe I'm doing this. It's just me, my little 30-foot floating home, Stargazer, and the endless blue ahead. Leaving the marina this morning felt surreal—like the kind of moment you've been dreaming about for years but never fully believe will actually happen. And then suddenly, you're there. Your hands are on the tiller, the dock is shrinking behind you, and it's just… freedom.
The weather gods were kind today: sunny skies, a light breeze from the northwest, and barely a ripple on the water. The Pacific spread out in front of me, calm but massive, like it was daring me to take it on. Leaving California behind, I kept looking back at the coastline until it finally faded into a blur of haze. For a moment, I thought, What am I doing? But then I turned forward, felt the wind catch the sails, and knew the only way was ahead.
It took a minute to settle into the rhythm of solo sailing. There's no one to talk to (except myself, which might become a thing), no one to take the wheel while I grab a coffee or adjust the lines. It's just me. At first, that felt a little lonely, but then it started to feel… powerful. Like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Lunch was a glamorous affair: a PB&J sandwich eaten with one hand while the other kept Stargazer steady. Gourmet chef, I am not, but hey, it worked. I might even throw in some chips tomorrow if I'm feeling fancy.
The real magic hit around mid-afternoon. I cut the engine once I was far enough offshore and let the sails take over completely. There's this moment when the hum of the motor dies, and all you hear is the wind, the water, and the creak of the boat. It's like the ocean officially welcomes you in.
I spotted a pod of dolphins about an hour later, just cruising alongside like it was their job to escort me out. I swear one of them looked right at me and winked. Not sure if I'm projecting here, but it felt like a good omen.
By sunset, the water was glowing with this golden light, the kind that makes you forget everything bad in the world. I sat there with my feet up, watching the horizon, and thought, Yeah, this is it. This is why I'm here.
Nightfall came quicker than I expected. The temperature dropped, and the wind shifted a bit, so I had to adjust course. First night at sea solo—no pressure, right? I'll admit, there's a bit of a learning curve when you don't have a crew. I spent about twenty minutes figuring out how to reef the mainsail while convincing myself I wouldn't accidentally fall overboard. Spoiler: I didn't.
Now, it's just me, the stars, and the gentle rock of the boat. The Milky Way is out in full force, stretching across the sky like a roadmap to everywhere. It's hard to put into words, but out here, miles from land, the stars feel closer. Like you could reach up and grab one if you wanted to.
I've got my autopilot set for the night, though I'll be up every couple of hours to check everything. Stargazer is holding her course like a champ, heading toward my first waypoint: the open Pacific. Tomorrow, I'll push farther from the coast, really start testing what this boat (and I) can do.
For now, I'm lying in my tiny cabin, listening to the water slapping against the hull. It's peaceful, in a way I didn't expect. I thought I'd be nervous, maybe a little overwhelmed, but instead, I feel… alive. Like I've finally stopped just thinking about life and started actually living it.
One day down, who knows how many more to go. But hey, if they're anything like today, I think I'm going to like it out here.
Catch you tomorrow.