Since sailing away in 2011 we’ve made a multitude of offshore passages. Our longest continuous passage was 9 days. Along the way we’ve been humbled by giant tankers gliding past at 20 knot so close I had to hold my breath to survive the anxiety, been awed by Olympic contenders for the category of longest jumping fish, entertained by theatrical & playful dolphins, dramatic double rainbows, deep ruby red moons rising out of the ocean and purple, pink, yellow suns tucking in for the night. The stars and planets have been mind boggling on blackened, moonless nights, packing the sky with a shimmering show of unrivaled grandeur. There have been a few passages we wouldn’t want to do again, others that were boringly monotonous. We have motored more than we care to admit and oftentimes more than the alternative, as in sailing. Our colorful spinnaker looks like new (still) and we finally understand how eventually owning a trawler makes sense to even the most dyed-in-the-wool sailors. Our luck has been generally good, even when blatantly ignoring superstitious folklore by starting passages on a Friday. Although I should knock on wood before saying this, we’ve had a really good run.

Now, as we begin to close this chapter down, making our final series of offshore passages, we’ve been given a handful of experiences worthy of a wrapped gift at a grand Bon Voyage party. The first one happened 50 miles offshore while Ed was on a late afternoon watch without Ryan or me on deck. A short-eared owl flew out to Skylark, circling around before landing on the fishing pole on the aft deck. It stayed for 20 minutes or so trying to find a secure place to rest, with little luck because as you can imagine, a fishing pole makes for a lousy perch. Then it flew away. An owl! In the ocean! Offshore! What in the world was that about? We believe it to be a good omen, regardless of its story. Good job with the camera, Ed. I probably would have sat staring with my mouth open, no camera in hand.