Sailing

As I sat on the edge of the cockpit, my arms wrapped around the side of the dodger (not unlike a small monkey), riding out the 6 (maybe 8)..

I cannot fall back asleep. Presently, it is 7:30am on a rainy Sunday in Northern Wales; my pants smell like a potent medley of grass clippin

I am writing from an anchorage at Isla Tiburón in the Sea of Cortez; we arrived here in the dark last night so today was day of exploring...

More than three hundred and forty days ago, we pulled out of the driveway to begin our trip; twelve countries later, and we are getting...