COMPLETION

The word, "finish", according to Merriam-Webster, has many meanings.  Among them are, "to come to an end; to terminate" or "completion".  Finish is also a verb meaning to come to the end of a task or undertaking; to bring to completion or issue; to arrive at or to attain the end of.  Its origins are Middle English, Anglo-French, and Latin.  It's first known use was sometime in the 14th Century.  So what?

We finished our Great Loop.  We travelled more than 8000 miles and visited 25 different states.  We burned up more than $10,000 in fuel.  We learned history, science and technology at the places where it all happened; the places that defined our country's image, and that continue to do so.  Yeah, we trapsed around the country and visited a lot of places.  So what?

Here we are at the finish line holding our Gold Burgee and flying the flags from all the states we visited.

However, in terms of what we have done, to simply say, "we finished" completely understates the emotions associated with completion.  There are many things that went through my mind at the moment we crossed our outbound wake.  None of them, however, singularly describe how I felt.  For instance, I understood that we had completed a cruise of more than 8000 miles.  I knew we had visited 25 states.  I hearkened to the fact that we had met a plethora of wonderful people.  I comprehended that we had visited hundreds of American cities.  I grasped that we had sampled wonderful and different foods and drinks.  Yet, I am still struggling to describe what it all means. Some of my friends can understand it; those who have completed marathons, or sailed across the Pacific Ocean, passed a Bar exam, or won a hard fought trial.  Others who may know what I mean may have served in combat, or played in a championship game.  There is a certain rush accompanied by a flood of adrenaline; a sense of accomplishment; victory.  So what?

We closed our law practice.  We leased our home. We cancelled subscriptions and did not renew certain memberships.  We cruised most of the summer while living aboard Abreojos trying hard to break everything so that it could all be made right before we took off for good. We learned to live in a 41 foot world.  So what?

Then, early one morning in October 2010, we left our homeport of Channel Islands, California.  Our departure was somewhat anticlimatic.  We left without any fanfare.  Only our friend Dana came down to the end tie dock to see us off and snap a few photos as we made our way out into the Santa Barbara Channel on our trip to Marina Del Rey, California where we would meet the truck.  Our departure was, in many ways solemn, insofar as we did not know where this voyage would take us.   You don't just walk away from everything with little in the way of life lines and feel totally confident.  You certainly cannot slip your existance and expect that it will ever be the same again.  Sure we knew where we were going, but we had no idea of the enormity of it all.  You can study and plan, prepare the tools and ready to conveyance all you want.  But when the dock lines come off, and you are now moving in a direction away from all that is comfortable and real; away from your friends and family, your job, your house, and all those little things that make you basically who you are on a day to day basis, it is a little mind boggling and somewhat disconcerting.  So, off we went, into the sunrise, with a gentle breeze on our backs and a following sea.  Although it may be hard to imagine,  I was actually short on words. I had this lump in my throat, a pain in my heart, and a healthy apprehension of the unknown or the unknowable. So what?

The sunrise was spectacular.  The waters appeared purple against the orange and red sky. We enjoyed a pod of Spinner Dolphin that followed us out to Point Magu where we would turn south.  We thought to ourselves, it's going to be quite a while before we see them again.  Bye.  We saw the spout of a California Grey Whale as we rounded Point Dume and headed out across Santa Monica Bay.  I thought of my father.  Bye.  And we gazed at the Brown Pelicans and the Seagulls fading away against the backdrop of Anacapa Island as it got smaller and smaller in the distance.....in our wake.  So long.  So what?

Ever since that day in October 2010, Brenda and I have been to places we had never been before, and many we had never even heard of.  Almost every day took us to a new place. The Pacific Coast, the Gulf Coast, the Atlantic Coast, the Great Lakes, America's Western River System.  We saw some extraordinary things.  We met some of the most wonderful people.  We learned so much about our country.  We became convinced that, even with all her bruises, blemishes, warts and other problems, America is, and hopefully always will be, the greatest country on earth.  It was so exciting to see where our country was born, and visit the places where some of her most trying and difficult times came to pass.  One thing is certain, in as little time as she has had to grow up and develop, America is more than extraordinary.  She is amazing, bizzare, curious, exceptional, fantastic, inconceivable, incredible, marvelous, odd, outstanding, peculiar, phenomenal, rare, remarkable, singular, stupendous, surprising, terrific, uncommon, unimaginable, unique, and unprecedented.  But, so what?

Notwithstanding all the wonderful and heartening moments we had, none of which I would ever consider trading for anything, this trip is a challenge from beginning to end.  Almost every day we had challenges to face that we didn't really think about before.  We had to figure out how to do live in a new place:  where to anchor, where to tie up, where to find food and water, or even where to get a simple quart of milk.  We took nothing for granted.  That, my friends, is impossible on a trip like this.  It's hard to go into a new place and meet new people, and see new things, and hear new sounds, and feel new air.  But to do that almost every single day?  It's exacting.  When you get away from your world and delve into a new one on an almost daily basis, you find that you can take nothing for granted anymore.  It's formidable. And then, there is always this sense of, "what the hell am I going to do if....." and when something does go south, and you are stuck, you wonder, "how the hell am I going to deal with this", or "now what"?  It can be arduous.  Sometimes you wake up in the morning and wonder where you are.  Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night because the bilge pump is running. And of course there are those nights when you go to sleep but, come morning, you cannot remember how you got back to the boat.  OOOPS.  But, the one thing that we experienced in every place we stopped was the kindness of strangers; the willingness of folks to extend a hand, to stop and talk, to show interest in what we were doing, and to let us know that, you will never really meet a stranger in America.  Not where we were.  There is a lot of garbage out there.  But, we didn't get any on us.  Then again, so what?

When we finished the Loop, our friend Kevin on Irish Rover broke out the bagpipes and played us a cool Scottish anthem.

Some say that, there comes a point in any voyage where you have to define it.  I have learned, however, that you cannot define a voyage like this.  You have to allow it to define you.  How you manage the day-to-day, how you administer the harships, how you engineer solutions, how you design the plan, and how you engage the wonders, the beauty, and the ugliness of the world around you, are all things that are like senses.  On this voyage, our senses have become extremely accute.  Our minds have been opened in a way no time spent in a library or a theatre or in front of the television can.  Our sense of who we are and what we are made of has been opened unlike ever before.  I thought I knew something about something.  I realized just how little that was.  I thought I understood the nature of people.  Not a clue.  I thought I had an idea of what it meant to call myself an American.  I'm ashamed of how small my perspectives were.  I thought I was a pretty good yachtsman.  There is now no comparison.  I knew I could function pretty darn well in the challenging and changing, shifting, spinning, and disorienting world we live in.  You never really know what you can do until you pull a stunt like this.  I am grateful for all the experiences I had growing up; for the pearls of wisdom my father bestowed upon me; for that aggressive fighting spirit my mother instilled in me; for the steady, and steadfast application of patience I have witnessed in people like my mother and father-in-law.  I am grateful for all the "punches in the face" I have endured, and all the times I had to stand up and be a "mensch", like my father used to say.  All of this experience came to bear to help get us through the last 14 months.  I'm not complaining.  I am stating that this experience was "otherworldly" and was heightened by all of the aforementioned. It made it all that much more possible and plausible.  OK, so what?

So what?  When we crossed out outbound wake thus completing America's Great Circle Route or America's Great Loop, there was an indescribable realization that, Brenda and I are not the same people we were when we left.  That's kind of scary because, in a sense, we are not sure we know what kind of people we have become. We have accomplished something pretty big.  And, it is by no accident.  We worked our asses off.  Every day, day in and day out, making sure we garnered every benefit we could from every place we went and every person we met.  We worked hard to learn things and understand things.  We left only footprints, but took away more than mere memories.  I'm pretty sure we are better for having done what we have done.  I'm all but certain we are stronger, as partners, as friends, as lovers, as husband and wife, and in the way we will face life's challenges in the future. I think this is what it all means.  I think this is why I get all choked up thinking about it.  It's like a re-birth.  It's like a break between halves.  How do you come back from this?  I don't know.  Where do we go from here?  We don't know.  How will we view our world when we get back?  No clue.  Then again, life has beautiful lessons to share, and when you go in empty, you can come out full.  This is the most important thing we learned.  Take a "walkabout" and see what you find.  You might be inspired.

We are in Gulf Shores, Alabama at the moment.  We spent a great night in a great anchorage at Dauphin Island before coming here.  We are going to hang out here for about a week and get a grip on what we want to do next.  For now, however, I think it appropriate to close this blog for now.  I may start another one.  I may write a book, or I may write several books.  Who knows? I'll let you know.

But for now, on behalf of Brenda, Runway and Tarmac, and the rest of the crew of the mighty Abreojos, thanks for coming on this ride with us.  We hope we inspired some of you to consider stepping out of your own zone and trying something equally absurd if not more so.

Be well.  Fair winds and following seas (or lake, as my friend Harry bid us).

This is the Adventures of M/V Abreojos - America From the Port Side, signing off.  

Out.

Abreojos at anchor at Dauphin Island.