Well, we finally passed halfway. Only yesterday were we at the same longitude as Las Cruces and Durango. It seems weird that we have only made it that far west, but the maps concur. We have about 12 days to go, and all though it is epic out here and the detachment from society gives perspective and is personally illuminating, it will be nice to see women, eat fresh produce, and drink a nice, fucking cold, beer. I hope this finds you well, and with beer (or a nice wine for that matter).

Here is a purple passage about the loss of our auto-pilot, full-moon and the past few days.

The fateful day we lost our auto-pilot has altered our daily lives dramatically, its void consuming eight hours from each of our days. However, as any adaptable assemblage worthy of the high seas, we have been flexible and compliant in our response to the unwanted challenge. It has motivated us to motivate each other, talking shit as well as encouragement to one another, on top of fine tuning our organization of time throughout the day. Life is what you make of it, and thus far this unforeseen problem has only brought out positive progress in our sailing abilities, cohesiveness and general enjoyment of the hands-on side of cruising. It is a blessing in disguise, although we initially looked upon the loss of our mechanical helmsman with dreariness and despair.

As the ill-fated day diminished and literal and symbolic gloom descended upon us, we stared towards the setting sun, ultra-violet rays wreaking havoc on our retinas as we strained to glimpse the famous green flash. Our luck was unwavering and so our attempt futile. As the last of the sunlight faintly flickered in the west, drawing with it the comforting warmth of the day, on the opposite horizon the earth's cosmic counterpart began to emerge. Sunset faded to moonrise, unveiling an ominous full moon that inevitably stirred the imagination, which roiled with twisted tales of nightmarish fates. A sudden spray of water and a gust of wind was accompanied by a loud ting of a projectile striking the metal navigation pedestal right in front of my face. A search of the cockpit revealed a large flying fish that had nearly collided with my head. Shortly after, another sizeable rogue fish ricocheted around the cockpit at unnerving speed. It seemed that the heavens, as well as mother earth herself, had sided against us. As the perfect disk of the moon bathed us in its eerie luminescence, superstition overtook sense in the wake of the enigma of our metaphorical man over board: the loss of our auto-pilot. Frightful full-moon fables chipped away at my sanity, until my mind was seized with phantasmagorical images and thoughts of dark destinies. The werewolf moon had me in its grasp. I ended my watch and handed the helm over to my dad, trying to shake thoughts of unearthly malevolent guidance. Needless to say, I did not immediately fall asleep.

I awoke for my next watch at 5 am, not enthusiastic at another undesirable fatefully forced hand at the helm. Trying desperately to blink the sleep from my eyes, I fumbled with the kettle and clumsily made some coffee. I hurriedly tried to get some of the liquid caffeine into my veins, greedily gulping at my cup. I finally came round as sunlight slowly began seeping into the darkness, and finally erupting from the horizon, showering the sea with the warmth of its rays. The brisk wind began to warm, filling the towering spinnaker and powering Kena eagerly forward. As she sliced efficiently through the waves with water spraying over the port side, as she surfed down the mountainous waves, all the while with the spinnaker teetering on the edge of collapse (its most efficient engagement), I realized I was enjoying this a lot. My excited brain finally adjusted to the reality that everything was alright, and that fate is not determined by the full moon, but by a firm mind.

Luck has already begun to align itself in our favor. Later that morning we hooked a 40lb tuna, and mother nature nurtured us with one of our favorite delicacies, tuna sashimi, accompanied of course by wasabi, soy sauce and sesame oil. This helped further abate our superstitions. Next came seared Ahi encrusted in sesame seeds, another fav! The now awoken and energized sushi chef in me made as many rolls as I could, having to pack obscene amounts of tuna into them to keep up with the meager supply of rice. We are once again in a sublime sailing state, although perhaps a little uncomfortable on account of our full bellies.

Cheers,

Tane