Two Photos. One Ocean. One Wild Ride.

The first photo captures one of the most meaningful moments of this journey, about three quarters of the way through my circumnavigation in 2024 — and one of my proudest achievements — arriving in South Africa, single-handed, after crossing the southern Indian Ocean from Cocos Keeling through Mauritius, Réunion, and Madagascar, then down the Mozambique Channel with a quick stop in Linga Linga, riding the Agulhas Current like a runaway freight train into a world of screaming southerlies. 

Here’s the rub — unlike any other leg of this trip, the closer you get to Richards Bay, the worse conditions get. You can get wiped out by a southerly with the marina in sight, entering the breakwater. You’re truly not safe until the boat is tied up — and even then, it’s questionable. The approach feels like the ocean’s final exam. It was four and a half months of pure endurance — mentally, physically, and emotionally — equal parts breathtaking and brutal, like being trapped in a washing machine full of thunder and salt.

So there I was, Richards Bay in sight — the last night out, mentally and physically tapped out in every way — when Mother Nature delivered one last beating for good measure, a reminder there’s no “almost there.” The barometer dropped into the mid-900s out of nowhere, winds went from dead calm into the 50s, swells climbed to the spreaders, the boat swung violently sideways, and lightning danced across the horizon like a strobe light at the world’s angriest nightclub. I got tossed across the cockpit in the dead of night. After a few choice words to the sky followed by a Hail Mary, I grabbed the helm and dumped the warp line — thankfully still triple-reefed from the last storm — and rode it out for what seemed like a lifetime.

Once she passed, I was done — like, done — thankfully with the boat and me in one piece. The feeling of tying Hold Fast to that dock in the morning was indescribable. For the first time in almost half a year, I could exhale — really exhale — and just exist for a moment. I had made it.

Or at least until I had to leave a few weeks later to round the Wild Coast, the Cape of Good Hope, and wrestle with the katabatic winds in Cape Town — because sailing South Africa isn’t a voyage, it’s a contact sport. It’s like skydiving in a washing machine full of saltwater and regret. 😂

The second photo, one of my favorites of the trip, shows a gathering of my fellow ocean farers who checked into South Africa at the Zululand Yacht Club in Richards Bay. Some were new friends, others I’d met along the Indian Ocean crossing, and some I’d known for years only online.Out there, everyone shares knowledge — weather windows, repair contacts, clearance tips, safe anchorages, or just moral support. Richards Bay is a natural bottleneck for boats heading toward the Cape of Good Hope and into the Atlantic — it’s where everyone’s paths finally cross.

It was incredible to finally meet so many of these faces in real life. Bonds forged through challenge and mutual respect — friendships that are simply invaluable.Once a week, the club hosts a braai (BBQ), and all the new arrivals are called up one by one. You’re handed a bottle of champagne and given a minute or two to tell your tale, followed by a huge round of applause. The club members are warm and welcoming — sailors from every corner of the world, each with their own hard-won story. There’s no ego, no bravado; everyone there knows exactly what it takes to get to that dock.

Days Sober: 2,151

In this photo: SV Ajla, SV Atlas, SV Hold Fast, SV Jefferson Morgan, SV Schwimmdings, and SV Nordlyset. Around the corner: SV Searcher, SV Double Cove, SV Champagne, SV Nandji, and SV Achusnet.