As I do this trip, I suddenly remember how hard it is on me. The price to pay for this type of out-of-the-ordinary experience.
It is hard on the body, being sleep deprived, constantly compensating for the waves and the cold, even in our bunk. It is hard on the mind as every instant of attention counts. That boat is great, but it is still a sailboat, rocked by unforgiving waters. We tend to forget to show this other side of the coin in our stories.
After some time, we naturally tend to forget the hard sides. The constant fight with the waves. Sometimes, the fear and the stress. The responsibility. We only remember the beauty, raw and wild, that catch our eyes and senses.
We met so many dolphins and birds coming to play with the boat out of curiosity. Sadly none made it into the frame of our cameras. They are hard to catch, suddenly there and gone when you finally grabbed your lenses. A little land bird was lost at sea and hesitated to stop on our deck before escaping further out. I fear he never found land again. We had a few very nice skies and landscapes.
As I spend time here, I realize my heart is somewhere else. It is with you, and I cannot wait to see you again.
If it were not about the team, I would probably be in the next flight back home to hug you for the whole winter and never let go. I have nothing to prove to myself. And the pandemic adds a dimension of uncertainty I was willing to accept, but also a weight on my shoulder that I like less and less.
However, I got to finish what I started; they will not be able to do it without me.
It is hard to find a good weather window to get south. It looks like no matter what, the first few days are going to be a beating. It will be hard to get out of them without a few bruises. Hopefully, the window gets better and we have a chance for a good six or seven days run to warmer weather.
I miss you terribly, and I am both excited and a little stressed of what lies ahead of us. I want it to be over to be with you.