Reflections of the 2010 SHTP

[ajgoldman]

I was coming back from Yosemite yesterday and I had a lot of time to think as I was making my way down Hwy 140 into the valley. There are many reasons why someone should not cross an ocean on a small boat by oneself: safety, loneliness, fear, and lack of sleep. It is easy to say no, to say maybe next time, and to give rational reasons to not begin an irrational journey. To all of these I can say only this: it's not here, it’s out there. I climbed half dome with my 12 year old son yesterday, 17 miles round trip, over 4000 feet of elevation gain, a great journey and a great day. I also saw many posted signs where to go, railings along the way were the cliffs led right to the trail, and many people around you to let you know a call for help is only minutes away. What the SHTP offers is to go beyond one’s comfort zone, to go past the posted signs and mile markers, and to see what lies beyond. To say that the race changed me is too simplistic; the race is now with me, always. Thank you SSS, thank you Bob and Rob, thank you Skip, and thank you to all my wonderful fellow competitors: Sam, Adam, Max, Al, Gary, John, Adrian, Dave, Jeff, George, Paul, Ken, and Ronnie.

If you are thinking of doing the SHTP for the first time in 2012, the only answer you seek is yes!

 

[Culebra]

Nicely said, AJ.

After sailing about 2800 nm on the homeward leg, much of it in spray over the deck, I thought I'd had more than enough. There were just too many days away from family, leg muscles were atrophied from cramped quarters, and the taste of a home cooked meal was too long in coming. I had pondered this thought for days during the final blast reach home and I couldn't wait to get off the boat. However... and it's a big however... it's a wonder what tricks one's emotions play on the mind. In the few remaining miles from home, during the early morning hours before twilight, across the Four Fathom Shoal, past Point Bonita and into the Golden Gate, Culebra ghosted beneath a cloak of dense fog, in hardly a whisper of wind. I could not bring myself to turn on the engine. We continued ghosting for hours, along the headlands, under the bridge, past Yellow Bluff, basking in the glow of city lights reflected from the low-lying marine layer. It was the most satisfying finish imaginable, and oddly, so oddly, I didn't want it to end. My subconscious was already considering the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'll do this again. We ghosted all the way past the Corps of Engineers Dock off Sausalito before turning on the engine, and only then because I had a date to meet my wife on the dock down in Richardson Bay. Yes, I'd had enough... but then again, maybe I hadn't. When asked just hours later, would I do this again, the answer was a definitive no, too many days away from family. When asked a few days later, the answer was, well, maybe. I soon found that my mind was empty of all the hardship. What remained were only incredible experiences, like that entrancing sail into the bay. It may have taken me several days to figure that out, but hell, the rest of them, they all knew it before I even stepped onto the dock... I was hooked, and now I know it too.

Paul/Culebra