Seven Times One-hundred

I have been told, or maybe read someplace, that in Colorado a person can't get more than about 7 miles from some sort of road or 4x4 jeep trail. In my experience of Colorado this has been true. Plenty of spots feel remote and are immersive wilderness, yet they simply are not that far away from civilization.

Frequently my co-workers at HMI, especially on local Leadville expedition routes, would note that it was actually viable to run to town for a shower, pizza, and maybe a beer and still be back for Circle if they left by 4pm or 5pm at the latest. Sanctity of the wilderness being what it is and all, such events never, ahem, occurred on an HMI expedition… but they could have.

As I write this, we have sailed nearly 700 miles downwind on a 2,100 mile passage. We are 100 times more remote than the seven miles I was comfortable with in Colorado and it does feel different. A modern sailboat has amenities and no lack of storage for spare parts and gear. However, whatever may come up on the passage will be our issue to solve with the tools, supplies, and skills we have brought with us.

Yesterday, the propane stove stopped working. A lot of our food, such as rice and pasta, taste not so great without access to boiling water. The crew members of Sila are not so happy when they are hungry. Clearly, the cook stove is a pretty important piece of equipment backpacking in the wilderness and on a sailboat in the middle of an ocean. Of course one should always start with the obvious, so we checked to see if the gas bottle was empty. It was not. Then a hot tropical day started to heat up as I wondered about which spare parts we did and didn't have. Bit of tinkering and we found a loose connection to a solenoid valve and a few crimps later all was well. We had homemade bread for lunch as planned (French built boats come with a clause in the purchase agreement that one must bake lots of bread).

Preparation and planning can fortify confidence to a degree, but experience is really the only salve on a lonely ocean. For me, having never crossed one until now, it is absolutely daunting to consider a big storm, a big leak in the hull, or a medical emergency. Aboard we have a good bit of relevant experience. My sister Mary has crossed the Atlantic before (north Atlantic, in the 1970's, and in the wrong direction no less.) Molly and I have been to a lot of WFR re-certification courses, and played doctor on the phone innumerable times with wilderness instructors sorting out an odd illness or injury. We have been mindfully sailing with an eye toward this adventure now for nearly a decade. Finally, I am a belts and suspenders kind of guy who plans obsessively, reads manuals because I think they are interesting, and have no shame when it comes to buying spare parts and esoteric tools that we might or might not need.

What also helps is all that time we have spent just seven short miles from a road. It didn't much matter if it was seven or seven-hundred miles, in the wilderness self sufficiency was the order of the day, an HMI tradition, and a part of what we all called "camping in good style."

Certainly our moment will come; an epic awaits every adventurer's future. We haven't come this far in search of an epic, but regression to the mean hints that someplace out here on the lonely ocean lurks the unexpected. I doubt we are "ready" for the unexpected but I do think we are qualified and prepared sufficiently to sort it out, whatever may come. We hope that we have the right balance between confidence and hubris here on the good ship Sila, but only experience will inform us on that balancing act.

- Christopher