There is a lot of water on this planet.

I'm the second day into the 380 mile passage to Las Roques from Carriacao. We've been traveling around 4 knots (but now 5-6ish!), and we have 210 miles to go, which means we should get there in less than 2 days, if we keep up this speed.

Note, we are traveling about as fast as a kayak. It's become clear to me just how slow this form of travel this is. If Ryan B and I set out from the same point in his green fishing kayak, we'd probably beat the sailboat, if only speed and route were considered.. Beyond going equal speeds, a sailboat doesn't necessarily go in a straight line to it's destination, rather it's off by 30* or 45* at any given time. Hence, by the end of this, we may end up sailing 500+ miles to reach our destination... (The boat does obviously have the advantages of constant, auto operation, among other things. I would not suggest taking a kayak for this distance in the ocean.)

I'm also struck by how vulnerable you are in a boat. A boat is essentially a big life raft, with a few more tools at your disposal. You can use forecasting to guestimate best time to chance the weather, but at any point the ocean is this merciless, dangerous blue blob that could serve you a fast one. Maybe it's not that different from climbing a 14'er in Colorado, except that the ocean can magnify itself with the effects of bad weather even more than a mountain can.

We are doing this passage in 3 hour shifts. There are 3 of us here, so that means 3 hours on, 6 hours off. Here are a few highlights:

* Sunset - looking for the green flash. Does it exist? Bev says she's seen it.

Night sailing.

* Peering into the dark, I see no shortage of imaginary things on the horizon. It is relatively light out with a full moon, but the horizon itself seems to be shrouded in darkness. I see a glow move along the horizon and then disappear. I imagine flat shapes along the horizon. Is it a fishing boat? I see every manner of twinkles along the horizon. A star? Or something else?

* Now I know what two ships passing in the night is really about. Except that I think today, it pretty much is opposite from what it used to be. We can see the ship on the chartplotter because they're required to broadcast on AIS. So we see the boat when it's 30 miles away, if its path will generally pass ours. We watch over hours, as it slowly creeps into our vacinity. Finally we see its lights. We watch over a couple hours, as the light creeps along the horizon, and then disappears. Overall, it's the biggest event that happens during a watch.

* No sight of land. I watched last night as the lights of Grenada finally disappeared behind us. See point about vulnerability.

* Watching clouds go by. And now there's a rainstorm approaching. We'll see how this goes.