DwyerHaney

There was one point when I was about half way between Mexico and the Galapagos and a storm cropped up out of nowhere with 30kt winds and huge seas. It was the middle of the night and I was totally and completely alone. I was up on the bow changing out my jib - alternately getting dunked in the sea and heaved up into the air with rain absolutely pelting me from the side. I definitely wondered if I'd taken on more risk than I should've. It felt, in that moment, like I was truly risking my life.

By the time dawn broke the storm had abated, the sun started peeking through the clouds, and I knew I'd be alright!

People are always very curious about the financial piece, so in the interest of helping someone that's looking to tackle a similar adventure, I'll give you guys all the nitty-gritty details. First - let me dispel some preconceived notions that people generally have about my story.

I don’t have a trust fund.

Every dime I’ve spent on this voyage I earned through hard work.

Ill be the first to admit that I’ve had a lot of advantages in life (good education, loving family, a fair bit of luck), but sailing voyages aren’t as expensive as everyone would imagine. I also won’t pretend like everyone can afford to do this. Lots of people have commitments and responsibilities that they have to honor – I’m definitely not putting down the way you live!

I started the voyage with $75,000 dollars in the bank that I’d earned over the course of four years of working as a mechanical engineer (I got the chance to build a ski factory for the company I was working for, but that’s another story!) She needed a bit of work, but when I first bought her, the boat cost me about $15,000. I end up spending about $15,000 per year in total on food/drinks, boat maintenance, marina fees, cell phone service, health insurance, etc.

My life isn’t always glamorous; I’ve gone for more than a month without a hot shower on numerous occasions during the last year. These types of trips can be done with a much smaller budget and there are also people that’re blowing hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.

I won’t pretend like what I’ve done is ‘financially responsible’; I’d be much more financially secure if I’d continued to live frugally and invested my excess income in bonds. But in your 20’s maybe it’s better to invest in happiness and life experiences instead of bonds.

I didn't know how to sail before I bought the boat - which sounds absolutely crazy - and in retrospect it probably was. I'd definitely recommend crewing on a boat or taking some sailing courses before diving into an adventure like this.

Safety for me was all about preparation. The Rascal is a very solid boat and she has all the gear and spare parts to weather major storms and breakdowns. I read a lot about accidents at sea and took lots of measures to mitigate the risk of them happening to me! Whenever I'm sailing alone with serious weather, I'm tied onto the boat so I can't fall off.

The scariest part of my trip was probably the engine fire that happened when I was 1000 miles from the nearest land.

Edited to provide an excerpt from my blog: "About two weeks into the trip, I was laying down in my bunk reading when I started to notice an electrical smell in the air. I was sitting right under the fan, and figured it was starting to heat up or something. A couple of sniffs proved that this wasn't the source and I began snooting around a few other electronics that could've been the culprit, all to no avail. Eventually I decided to lift the cover of the engine compartment, and smoke billowed out in my face. I could see flames leaping up the left side of the engine and sparks flying into the insulation.

The Rascal is a very sturdily built ship and there aren't many things that could sink her. I'm pretty well convinced that even hitting an iceburg or a container wouldn't put a hole in her. Losing steering would be really bad news, but I could jury rig something to send her in the right direction. A dismasting would also be a big problem, but I've always got the engine, and I'm sure I could figure out how to rig a shorter mast sufficient to send me to my destination. At least I've still got the security of the Rascal to protect me from the elements. A FIRE, however, is a much bigger problem. A fire very likely means abandoning ship and ending up in a life raft (if the fire hasn't already roasted it) and I'm left without much in the way of food, water, or shelter.

When I saw those flames, I nearly shit myself. My eyes got as big as dinner plates and I let out a frightened shout. I immediately reached over and grabbed the fire extinguisher that is mounted above the stove and blasted the engine compartment with a ferocious stream of powdery extinguisher juice. That was enough to quench the blaze, but something was still sparking away, so I turned my attention to the battery switches. I wasn't sure why the fire had started, but I knew some sort of electrical issue was the cause, so I turned everything off at the main. Next, I sent my brother a message so he would know something was going on in case a fire blazed back up. After all of this was accomplished, I sat down on my bunk and realized I was trembling. I was about a thousand miles from the nearest land, several days from any potential rescue, and decidedly shaken. Luckily, however, the fire was out, I was safe and sound with plenty of food and water, and the Rascal didn't seem to have any critical damage."

We're trashing this planet in a thousand different ways and it breaks my heart. Its tough to know how incredible the world can be without getting out into the wild and sinking your teeth into it. How can you appreciate wilderness and nature when all you know is strip malls and tract houses and city parks? In my opinion, the ocean is one of the wildest places left in this world and getting out into it has changed my perception of what's normal or what's OK. Even a thousand miles from the nearest land, you occasional sail past a styrofoam cup or an old flip flop floating along. There is no part of this planet that is immune to the effects of our presence. This voyage has made the environmental magnitude of the environmental crisis exceptionally clear in my mind and I hope that I'll be able to help combat it in the future.

I exposed myself to a lot of challenge and a fair bit of risk during the last two years and that's definitely changed my personality. I'm much more confident and sure of myself than when I started because I know what I'm truly capable of. It'll be hard to find any challenges that are more daunting than sailing 37 days alone across the pacific.

There was no single experience that changed me the most, instead its the sum of the last year of beauty. Every sunset, every dolphin escort, every volcano I skied, and every beach I walked is a part of me now. I'll be able to carry them with me for the rest of my life. I really and truly treasure this planet in a way that I would never have been able to comprehend before I left.

Well, after I cleaned out my trousers, I spent the next few days disassembling and rewiring the engine while the boat rolled up and down in the swell.

Eventually I got it all working again, which was good because I ended up with almost two weeks of calms during the middle of my sail and I did a bit of motoring during that phase. When its cloudy and my solar panel isn't putting out much electricity, my engine can charge the batteries as well.