After several glorious days of flying over water, we are grinding to slow as we approach landfall. There are huge southeast swells which are battering the port of entry harbor, so we actually don't know where we are going yet. May go to another smaller island and hang out until things are quieter. There is anticipation, but also something the Portuguese call saudades, sort of nostalgia for things not yet past. As tired as we are, there is some ambiguity about leaving this big space and moving back into the rhythm of land and its inhabitants. Steve caught but did not land a wahoo or ono about six feet long -- "good" but "bad". In some ways that sums up the voyage, many stresses, many magical things, many paring downs to truth. I am sure it is the same for those around us: when people joke that their "will to live" has come back, you know they are sort of not kidding. Our radar died two days ago so we have been keeping more traditional watches, just plain looking out all night, which has added to the pleasure for me as much as I enjoy using the radar. Yawn....gotta' go lay down...