Day 2: A Little Less Glamorous, A Lot More Real
Let me just start by saying: last night? Brutal. I know I romanticized the whole "stars and solitude" thing in my Day 1 post, but the reality of solo night watches hit me like a rogue wave. You can't really sleep out here—not for more than 20-30 minutes at a time—because you have to stay on guard. A rogue ship, a sudden wind shift, or even just some sneaky debris in the water could ruin your whole day, and your boat.
So, I set an alarm every half hour, waking up in this zombie-like state, scanning the horizon, checking the GPS, and making sure Stargazer was still happily chugging along. Spoiler: she was, but my sanity wasn't. At one point around 3 AM, I swear I heard some weird splashing and convinced myself it was a sea monster. Turns out it was just a particularly loud wave. Welcome to solo sailing, where your brain decides to mess with you.
Anyway, I somehow made it through the night and was greeted by a killer sunrise. Pink and orange streaks across the sky, the kind of view you can't put a price on. Totally worth the sleeplessness. The ocean was smooth as glass this morning, which is perfect for someone still figuring out how to exist on a moving boat 24/7.
So, where am I heading? First stop: Mexico! Specifically, Cabo San Lucas. It's about 800 nautical miles south of where I left California. At my current pace, it's going to take me about 6-7 days to get there. I'm planning to stay in Cabo for about a week—long enough to rest, resupply, and maybe sneak in a beach day or two (because come on, it's Cabo).
As for visas, Americans don't need one for Mexico if you're staying less than 180 days. They just hand you a tourist card when you arrive. Easy-peasy. That's part of why I picked it as my first stop—no red tape to deal with.
Today's highlights (and lowlights):
After the morning caffeine fix (instant coffee, because I'm fancy like that), I spent the first few hours adjusting course. The wind picked up from the northwest, so I had to tack a bit to stay on track. Tacking solo is… a workout. You're running back and forth between the tiller, the winches, and the sheets, trying not to trip over lines or drop something overboard. By the end of it, I felt like I'd done a full-body gym session.
Lunch was leftovers from yesterday—another PB&J, but this time I leveled up with a banana on the side. I know, wild stuff. I'm trying to conserve my fresh food because once it's gone, I'm down to canned goods and pasta.
The afternoon was a mixed bag. On the one hand, I saw some more dolphins, which never gets old. They're like the ocean's cheerleaders, jumping around like, "You got this, bro!" On the other hand, the wind died around 2 PM, leaving me bobbing in the middle of nowhere. No wind means no forward progress, which is both frustrating and a little humbling. The ocean does what it wants, and you're just along for the ride.
By late afternoon, the breeze picked up again, and I managed to cover a decent chunk of miles before sunset. I'm trying not to obsess over the speed and distance too much—it's not a race, after all—but it's hard not to calculate every little detail when you're out here with nothing but time and open water.
Tonight's plan: Another round of interrupted sleep. I've set my course and checked the autopilot, but I'll still be doing my half-hourly alarms to make sure everything's cool. I've got a headlamp ready, a cup of tea brewing, and an audiobook queued up for the quieter moments. (Pro tip: audiobooks are clutch for solo sailors. It's like having someone talk to you without the inconvenience of actual people.)
There's a good chance I'll be grumpy by the time tomorrow rolls around, but hey, this is the life I signed up for. The highs and the lows, the boring and the beautiful.
Alright, signing off for now. Cabo's still hundreds of miles away, and I've got a long night ahead. Catch you tomorrow with more tales from the big blue.