Landfall

There is something that only poetry can describe about landfall after a a sea voyage; after the hardships, and joys of the voyage, being totally isolated and self sufficient. Your existence has been concentrated down to the boat and your shipmates, while at the same time you have experienced the wind, the sea, the stars, the universe. Now there is land, your destination. Soon you will be safe, never a certainty at sea. This voyage has been successful. I have done it one more time, never a certainty.
And then there is the lighthouse. Gibbs Hill Light stands 354 feet over the Atlantic, its rotating beam sweeping the horizon, the land, the sea. "I am here. You can trust me," it says. It memorizes me. It welcomes me. I just sit in the cockpit and watch it, swish, swish. Each time, its rotating the beam of light seems to cleanse whatever it sweeps. As if to say "Your sins are forgiven". It is very comforting to have the lighthouse beam shining out, over my head and reaching out over the ocean. This voyage has been successful. I have done it one more time, never a certainty.
And what a voyage it was. Three superlatives: The longest duration I have ever been in sustained gale or near-gale wind, the longest noon to noon distance of 167 nautical miles, and the first time I have seen Advent's speed at 9 knots. Yes, it has been windy. And wet, mostly from spray. Soon we will be in the land of ice, hot showers, and laundry-mats.
Bill Doar
s/v Advent II