At 66, I am preparing to sail solo across the South Atlantic — 4,500 nautical miles alone at sea. But this is not really about storms, Equator crossings, or Cape Horn. It’s about a harder question: am I wasting the few years I have left? Is this just ego? This essay explores the real cost of a late-life solo ocean crossing: family, inheritance, marriage, reputation, and the slow temptation of safe harbour. What happens if you don’t go? What slowly dies? A reflection on ris

La Palma, January 2026. This article is about my wife, a non-sailor. And La Palma in January. And a private tour of an observatory. And the stars, the universe and everything. Puerto Tazacorte. The pull to the sea is an odd one. It's often a solitary one. I think. It's hard or impossible to deny this pull. Unless this, the sea, is idiosyncratic to me. Maybe other souls feel similar relentless pulls to mountains or deserts or pottery. It's a different life from a land based

September 2025. So, the boat is safe in Tazacorte. Bruce and I have a couple of days (reward for his Mal de Mere bravery) exploring and I stayed on a couple of days after Bruce left, got her on the hard, had one day of exploring before I had to get home to look after commitments and family. This post is those first few days, Trip 1, and then Trip 2 when I return in January.