Harmon and Randall's Voyage…

Leg 3, Blog 21, August 8, 2025 – Latitude 8 South!

Greetings! There is lots to talk about, so let’s start at the present and work backwards, shall we? This is a long blog post and for those who choose to read on, you shall be rewarded with DOLPHINS at the end!! Currently, all is good. Really good. Except the sailing thing, which, when put into perspective, is actually not that bad. Let me explain.

At this moment, we are 80 miles off the coast of northern Brazil, motoring directly into the wind on our way towards Rio de Janeiro, some 1,000 miles to the SW. These uneven conditions have been with us, more or less, for two weeks now since we left Mindelo, Cape Verde (which seems like ages ago). About a week ago, we anchored off the Brazilian island of Fernando de Noronha, and were then politely asked to leave the island due to a visa technicality, shall we say? (more on that later).

We crossed the equator a mere seven days ago and did our best to pay respects to Neptune, the mythical god of the sea. It paid off, in a sense, as the seas have not been angry or vengeful. Thank you King Neptune. But we are finding that while conditions have been anything but harsh, the seas are being, “playful”?, “unsettled”?, “confused”?

The 11 day (1,500 mile) passage from Cape Verde to Fernando de Noronha proved particularly difficult for me. It was the combination of the harsh reality of sailing directly into weather, coupled with the equatorial heat and humidity that was omnipresent. As hot and humid as it was outside, it was hotter and more humid inside the boat. Mōli is, after all, a tough, solid, expertly designed and built boat that, in my opinion, is better suited for high and low latitude sailing than equatorial ventures. But I digress because the problems that I experienced were my own, and not caused by the boat.

Something was different this passage and I cannot make sense of this. I have most certainly been in harsher upwind weather (Fastnet Race 2021). I have certainly been in an equally hot and humid environment (Panama to NY, Clipper Round the World Race 2018). But not since the ill-fated Southern Ocean Cape Town to Fremantle Clipper Round the World Race in 2017 (Latitude 38, January 2018) have I been beaten down to physical and psychological depression within a matter of days.

In retrospect, what the Clipper Cape Town to Fremantle race and our Cape Verde leg have in common are multi-day (almost one week) of continual upwind pounding combined with hot and humid conditions inside the boat that make it almost impossible for me to eat, drink and sleep which quickly lead to zombi-like behavior on my part. Add to this the fact that I did not recognize that I was experiencing some form of seasickness. And why should I? I do not get seasick! Wrong. I need to admit to myself that I do get seasick, but it takes a lot. In retrospect, had I diagnosed my symptoms better and started medicating myself earlier, my conditions would have likely ameliorated. Sorry Randall!

As you might have imagined, life onboard, already difficult due to the incessant pounding and heat, became more difficult as Randall sought to bring his faithful crew member back to life. Having your crew show up to midnight watch being completely out-of-it cannot be settling to a skipper. Fortunately, there is no plank to walk on Mōli.

To bring me back to life, first and foremost as reported earlier, was moving me out of my hot, stuffy, bouncy windward side V-berth to the calmer and cooler lee-side salon couch (Randall’s home forever). Second was allowing me to increase ventilation in Mōli where possible (needed to clear and reposition several dorade vents). Third was to temporarily suspend our “formal” dinners as neither of us had much appetite at that point. Fourth, and this might seem a little crazy to you all, Randall allowed me to black-out the the two glass hatch covers therefore reducing or even eliminating much of the harsh sunlight blasting into the boat. This provided a cooling effect to the interior.

Suffice to say, that within a few days, I gradually came out of my nautical depression and that I can report to you that I am now officially back. When I finally came out it, I thought to myself, “Whoa, what just happened to me? What was that??!!” I can say that I now have a healthy respect for individuals suffering from depression who through no fault of their own, suddenly see the cup as half empty and go from day do day without appreciation or energy. Because that’s what I was, for sure, depressed.

Through all of this, Randall did not seem to suffer any of the ill-effects of the upwind sailing or heat and humid conditions outside or inside the boat. While I would lay down to rest in my bunk dressed only in gym shorts with a big battery operated fan (which I brought with me) blowing full to keep me from sweating, when it was time for Randall to sleep, he would simply plop down on his bunk, fully clothed with long pants, long shirt and with shoes on, and fall immediately into slumber (I’m talking 95 degrees fahrenheit and 95% humidity).

But this belies another frustration that I harbor, but Randall seems to take in stride. That is that for most of this leg, and certainly within the last two weeks, sailing conditions have not held steady for more than what seem like 30 minutes at a time (I am talking about a period of over two weeks here or should I say two months). I understand that ocean sailing does not guarantee consistent ‘fair winds and following seas”, but we seem to find ourselves in a piece of ocean that delights in constant change. I am talking high wind, low wind, front wind, side wind, squall after squall after squall.

This means that we, well Randall, the eternal optimist, is constantly adjusting sail, switching from wind vane to autopilot to turning the engine on and off so that we can keep our forward progress. Every time with that optimistic drive that tells him that this time the weather will hold. I know that most of you are thinking that this is “normal”, but I promise you that we have yet to find our stride, our ocean pacing. Throughout this leg, there has hardly been a period where we can relax and enjoy our point of sail for more than 30 minutes. With every sail change is the hope that we are now, finally in a steady trade wind condition and we can sit back, relax and enjoy our given course for at least a reasonable period. But alas, within a short stead, the wind has died, the wind has backed, or a squall throws us in the wrong direction. Again.

I could hardly blame you if you consider me an incessant complainer, never satisfied with conditions that are anything BUT normal. I think what I really want to communicate to you is the experience of what happens to a “normal” schmo (me?) when they embark on an ocean crossing or sea venture of this magnitude. I could pretend that I am superhuman and able to take the harsh or constantly changing conditions in stride. Stiff upper lip, you know the kind. But no, I always prefer to write from the perspective of your average schmuck that thinks he will be different and able to bear the harshness and difficulties inherent in this type of adventure. But reality always comes back to bite. So if any of you were wondering if I consider myself as tough or as skilled or as dedicated as sailors like Randall, Mike Johnson or Don Bauer (those of whom I have sailed with), the answer is absolutely not (and thank God they do not expect me to be). But it sure is fun to hang out with them in their element.

Randall reminds me that as sailors we are obligated to be optimists. As someone who is certainly optimistic in on the hard, I find myself being “realistic” at sea. Especially in these conditions. Clearly I need to upgrade my outlook!

Ok. Now that I have got this out of the way, here, as Charles Osgood used to say, “Here is the rest of the story”.

Above and Below: On the late night watches, even in harsh upwind conditions, it brings solace to the lonely soul to be joined by the “local” Noddie Bird aka Brown Noddy. You never see them by day, but by night, they are looking for a temporary home. A classic tropical seabird, they have an enormous territory from Hawaii to Australia to the Caribbean to Tristan da Cunha. They land on rather unsteady parts of the boat in my opinion. Not sure how they get the rest they need. While you cannot directly approach or feed them, they do not seem scared of a flash or a camera light.

Above and Below: After coming back to life, I regained my appetite. It dawned on me that if I wanted some good bread, I should just make it myself. As it was Friday (Shabbat) I thought to myself, why not make a Challa??!! We have had all of the ingredients on board forever (including up-to-date yeast). Don’t know what took me so long.

Above and Below: A stop on the island of Fernando de Noronha was not on our itinerary. We were originally planning on a 30 day non-stop sail from Cape Verde to somewhere in Uruguay. I can only guess that a stop on this remote Brazilian island suddenly seemed like a good idea when: 1) Wind conditions took us rather closer to this island than we had expected; 2) Most of our fresh fruit, vegetables and bread had already gone bad in the hot, humid weather; 3) My depressed condition, just abating at the time, made it seem to me that jumping of the boat was a good idea, and an island was considered a better option than the open ocean.

Above: Fernando de Noronha is a volcanic archipelago about 350 kilometers off Brazil’s northeast coast. It is a protected national marine park and ecological sanctuary. This place is way off the beaten track for both Americans and Brazilians (except for Don Bauer who made a stop there in 1981 as he sailed home from Cape Town). It is renowned for its undeveloped beaches, sea turtles, rays, dolphins and reef sharks. For better or worse, almost no one speaks English here.

Above: Ah yes, we can tell we are now in Brazil.

Above and Below: There are no other resources in the island except for the natural splendor of the beaches and bays and other natural inland attractions that we were not able to check out. Tourists, all from Brazil as best we could tell, loved to criss cross the bay in all sorts of water craft.

Above: On our one night out in the island, Randall and I saw these “fries” served to a table next to us. We then asked the waiter for similar “French fries”. Waiter says they do not serve potatoes in this restaurant. Hmmmm, we thought, well what are those”? we asked. “Manyok” (Cassava) he answered. Alrighty then, we will order that! Very good! Can satisfy 75% of our French fry craving.

This is a picture taken before my night completely fell apart. As reported earlier by Randall, as soon as we dropped anchor in Frenando, we dutifully checked in at the Port office to obtain the necessary island and park permits and to register with Immigration to get our passports stamped. The Port Captain, Marcos, could not have been more pleasant and helpful. He invited us to relax in his cramped but air conditioned office. His English, like almost everyone on the island, was practically non-existent. So Google Translate was the program of the day.

After signing all of the registration papers, it was time for Immigration to come and check our passports. Three Federal Police officers in uniform and side arms (two men and a woman) entered the office and we made pleasantries. They then asked us for our visa. That’s when things started going downhill fast.

Randall and I looked at each other. “Visa? We don’t got no stinkin’ visa! Who knew we needed a visa??!! I thought to myself, “Why didn’t we get a visa?” The answer, of course, is that we never planned to make landfall in Brazil, so why would we need a visa?

Now here is when things got hazy for me. The officers said that we had to have a visa, or we could not stay on the island. As a courtesy (and in adherence to international law), however, they would give us the day to get food and fuel, but after that, we would need to get off the island (or produce a visa). Randall immediately took it upon himself to secure fuel with the help of Marcos. This meant Randall taking the dinghy back to the boat, pulling the 10 available jerry cans, taking them back to shore, taking a cab to the filling station, filling the jerry cans, taking a cab back to the port, jumping on the dinghy, taking the jerry cans back to the boat and dumping the fuel into the tanks.

Thinking that I had until tomorrow morning to get off the island (wrong!), I checked into a nice hotel, cleaned up and took care of some business at home. I would shop tomorrow morning closer to when we had to leave. Randall finished the refueling in record time, and we met for dinner on the island at a local restaurant.

At the very moment that the cassava fries were served in the picture above, it suddenly dawned on me in my discussion with Randall, that we were not supposed to be on the island, certainly not at this restaurant, and certainly not checked into a hotel as I had done. To relate this back to conditions back home, we were in the country illegally and at risk of being arrested and jailed by the Brazilian ICE. At that paranoid moment, I knew that we had to finish our meal quickly, go to my hotel and get my bags, and return to the boat for the evening.

My hotel thought I was crazy to check out, Randall thought I was being a bit paranoid (although not wrong) to check out (he wondered why I even checked in), but I did not want to have those Federal Officers knocking at my door in the middle of the night, if you know what I mean.

I was out of sorts (again!) and moving too quickly to compose myself. I just wanted to get off the island. Randall and I returned to the dingy with all of my bags (it is after 10:00 PM now) and I proceeded to get into the dingy. As soon as I lowered myself in, I noticed immediately that my iPhone was missing. Oy! We looked everywhere in the dingy and my bags but to no avail. Randall calmly consented to help me go back to the restaurant, perhaps find the cab, and search for my phone.

Problem was that I did not know what restaurant we just ate at as the name and address were in my phone! Ah, but I had a tiny paper receipt with the name on it. We called a cab and two showed up. I gave one of the drivers the receipt and asked them to drive us there (no one spoke much English). Five minutes went by and we were still socializing with the drivers (one of them was the driver that helped Randall with his fueling mission). Finally I said, “Ok…let’s go to the restaurant”. Everyone looked at me and asked the address. “It is on the piece of paper that I handed to you” (looking at the driver). The driver looks at me an in his best Portuguese says that I never gave him the receipt with the address. It was now 11:00 at night, everyone looking at me like I was crazy. No one had any idea of what I was talking about. Randall thought we should just jump in the cab and look for random restaurants, but I thought that would be a fools game at this time of night. I knew when I was beat, signaled my defeat, and advised Randall that we should just return to the boat.

Earlier that night at dinner, Randall had asked me why I didn’t just jump ship when we landed at Fernando seeing as I was doing so poorly. I thought to myself, I guess was feeling better, and was too scared to ask the Federal Police. But I also thought to myself, I should at least ask the Federal Police if self deporting without a visa is even a possibility.

That next morning, I cleaned myself up, and Randall and I headed back to the Port office to ask Marcos to call the Federal Police so we could ask if immediate self-deportation was a possibility. But by the time we got to his office it was lunch time. Marcos told us to come back at 2:30 and he would have the Federal Police meet us at his office. Randall and I then took the opportunity to go shopping (like I should have done the day before).

We completed the shopping and Randall took the food back to the boat while I went to the Port office. It was 2:30 and the Federal Police showed up right on time. In my best Google Translate I asked the police if I could go immediately to the airport and fly myself home. The head officer looked at me in those cold ICE eyes and shook his head no. He typed into Google Translate something to the effect of, “You are on the island illegally. I gave you yesterday to get food and fuel and then get off. Did you not understand my instructions? Why are you still here? You need to get off the island immediately and do not enter any port in Brazil without a visa.” As my father would have said humming the old Navy Hymn, “It’s Anchors away my boy”.

Above: Well, the day was not a total loss because on our way in that morning, Randall spotted my phone 15 feet under water in the very spot where I must have dropped it the night before. After I finished my business with the Federal Police, I found a kid who gladly braved the deep and brought back my phone. Interestingly, it was still on and working! What I have left out of this story is the six hours that Jorun, my poor wife, had just spent calling AT&T and switching the eSim card from my lost phone to my old backup that I had brought along just in case. Thank you Jorun!!

Above: Frazzled and overheated and running from ICE, but with phone in hand!

Randall and I returned to the boat free but defeated. As it was the afternoon, we decided to set sail the next morning. That gave us time to calmly appreciate the loveliness of the island bay surrounding us. Above: On Fernando, they love to tow snorkelers behind their party boats. It is a simple concept, but you see this rarely in other locations.

Above: Moli resting at peace in Dolphin Bay as we returned to her.

Above: The rock outcroppings of the island are but one of the factors that were considered as they made the island a Marine National Park and a UNESCO Heritage site. I could not stop looking at this giant rock. Is it just me, or can you also see the wise countenance of an ancient island elder?

Above: This is a Gannet or Boobie (we are not quite sure which and they are closely related). A gannet is a large, seabird known for its distinctive diving behavior to catch fish. It has a long, pointed bill and typically white plumage with black markings. Gannets are also sometimes referred to as boobies and belong to the Sulidae family, which includes other pelicaniform seabirds. 

Above and Below: Ok…you have all been so patient and good…so nhere come the dolphins! We happened to drop anchor in “Dolphin Bay” and were amazed at how these Spinner Dolphins would roam about and play all morning.

Above: We all love Dolphins, but please do not forget their favorite dinner food, these small bay fish. Above you can see them feasting on our breakfast granola.

Above: As I go through life, I always search for the Jewish connection in my day-to-day dealings. As Randall and I were food shopping in Fernando, this gentleman appeared behind us in line. “Are you Jewish” I asked him in my best broken Spanish. He did not understand me even as I pointed to his Star of David shirt. This will just have to remain one of life’s unanswered mysteries.

Above: With just a couple of hours until we will depart this island paradise, what would an exit plan be if it did not include a change of autopilot? It seems that the new one Randall gifted Mōli in St. Johns was making an increasingly eerie noise. Out with the new and in with the old!

Above and Below: With just minutes until we depart, it was time to jump in the warm South Atlantic to take a swim among the fish and Dolphins. It felt so refreshing.

Above: It is hard to compete with Randall on sunset pictures, but here is our first night out.

Thank you all for sticking with me in this far too long blog post. I will leave you with the above photograph from our third night out. Despite how light it appears, I just took it at 11:30 PM! That is the moon and it is night. It is a magnificent 75 degrees outside. We are heading due south on a beam reach approaching seven knots. Easy sailing at last! Mōli is cutting through the gentle surge like a hot knife through butter. We have just 900+ miles and six days until Rio (if we are lucky). Right now I can’t imagine being any other place on this beautiful earth.

Happenings:

Amanda S, Queen of the Farallon Islands, happy belated birthday. Not only are you the head biologist, ornithologist, maintenance engineer, mother of all interns, but you drive a mean dingy. You have dedicated your life to the betterment of the natural sciences and all species who thrive on the Farallon’s.

Nephew Alex, dude, happy birthday! The Alaska Sea Highway is lucky to have you. Best Second Mate ever! See yo there soon.

RIP Henrik Malmsten. Never was there a more gentle and patient man and a kind and loving father. You will be missed.