I knew this leg from Airlie Beach, Australia to Ha Long Bay, Vietnam was going to be a hard one. I learned on Leg 1 Race to from Cadiz, Spain across the equator to Punta Del Este, Uruguay that I struggle with heat. This was my main concern. I started to realize around the end of Race 3 or maybe it was 4 how small everything seemed in the rear view mirror. When I was in the middle of a struggle, it seemed like time moved so slow… It seemed like the challenge was relentless and I just wanted relief from whatever the obstacle was. I didn’t lean into it but away from it. After I completed the legs though, it seemed like it flew by, the days and watches blend together in my memory. Most of the time, I couldn’t even tell you what day we were on or how long we had been at sea. I couldn’t tell you all the little things that bugged me without flipping through my journal to find each instance. That discomfort I was feeling was so temporary.
I did struggle with the heat, but not like leg one. I worked through it. I drank plenty of water. I let my body sweat. I lathered in sunscreen daily. I rinsed the sunscreen off with salt water. I treated burns where I missed applying sunscreen. I drank a lot of water. I used cooling towels during the day when I slept and my fan during the day and night when I slept. Sometimes I slept on deck if the conditions allowed where it was cooler. It was hard to sleep but I knew at some point my body would become exhausted enough that I would be able to sleep regardless of the temperature. When I finally did reach that level of exhaustion, my team let me sleep through a standby watch as I did for them when they hit that wall as well. We took turns rotating through sleeping extra when we were finally exhausted enough to do so. So even though I have flashes of memories of laying in my bunk tossing and turning and soaking my sheet with my sweat and I have memories of wooling a kite and the sweat running down my face and down my stomach and my feet sliding in my sandals from the faucet that was my skin’s pores, they are just that… flashes of memories that are fleeting. And here I am having sailed back across the equator and 4,000 miles closer to my full circumnavigation.
As we crossed back into the Northern Hemisphere, I didn’t expect it to feel like I was going home as much as it did. I know I am in Vietnam now and heading to China next but the night sky started to remind me of home again.
I grew up in rural Washington State with beautiful night skies. As an adult, I have continued to live in rural America across Colorado, Montana, and Wyoming. Wyoming has been home for over a decade now. I often would lay on the ground at night in my 35 acre orchard with my dog curled up next to me looking at the night sky tracking the Little Dipper (Ursa Minor), the North Star (Polaris), the Big Dipper (Ursa Major), Cassiopeia, Arcturus, Pleiades, Orion, ect.
Back on leg one as we crossed into the Southern hemisphere, the night sky started to change. Stars have always been something quite familiar to me but as I recognized less and less of the night sky it started to feel foreign. Once we moved far enough south, I was able to start recognizing the Southern Cross but didn’t put in much effort to learn any other constellations while I was in the southern hemisphere. It was an odd feeling looking up at an unrecognizable night sky each clear night and just admiring it and basking in its beauty.
As we move back north over the equator, it feels like moving towards home as my constellations move back into view on a nightly basis. I am still a long way from home and won’t actually return home until after the race is complete but it gives me some comfort looking up at a night sky that I recognize again.
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