ETA Victoria – November 32 2026
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ETA Victoria – November 32 2026

ETA Victoria – November 32 2026

ETA Victoria – November 32 2026

Yes, that is the correct date and not some auto-correct idiocy. November 32 2026 as in never in a thousand years.

I am becalmed (again), rolling miserably (again), in drizzle (again), with a Predict Wind forecast that makes zero sense (again), and no more granola bars to make it all better (sadly).

If anyone were to ask, I don’t think I could manage a better, more accurate, more succinct summary of the entire 5 Capes Voyage than the 31 words in the preceding paragraph.

At 09:00 local, I decided I had had enough of going in the wrong direction. The decision was made easier given that we were thrashing our way upwind in 22-25 knots and a building sea. I slowed the boat down so that we were gently fore reaching. Winds were almost due East and not anything like the forecasted light southerlies. The shift to south would come soon enough I figured so why heap the abuse on Seaburban for no good reason?

I waited.

I waited some more.

It began to rain.

The fog rolled in.

The wind backed into the Southeast.

Aha! Our good sense has been rewarded thought I. Off we went, headed due East for home. Well done! Bravo Zulu! Good on ya mate!

I guess too much rejoicing too soon. Within an hour, the wind evaporated and the rain began in earnest. Thinking it couldn’t be, I tried hand-steering, hardened sheets, footing off, and reefing down to scraps trying to minimize the banging and slatting of sails that was causing the whole boat to shudder. Clearly nothing was going to change the fact that there was no wind and not any likely in the near future. I caved in and lowered all sail reducing us to a drifting, helpless speck on a leaden, lifeless sea.

I ask why even though I know all too well there is no why. I ask how come even though I know there is no rhyme or reason. I ask when and am answered by a soundless eternity that would seem to imply never. I ask Sir Salty if he has any answers and he stirs not, feigning sleep so as not to disturb me further. Even Port and Starboard look away, pretending to be lost in some discussion as to the merits of a thorium reactor. Without answers, I feel my whole being sag under the weight of it all. I am suddenly tired. Weary beyond words.

I am so close but still so very very far.

Follow my tracks in real-time: