June 29, 2010 – Seattle, Washington
By Herb McCormick

Precisely one year ago today, the 64-foot cutter, Ocean Watch, had just passed the 60^th parallel en route from the Aleutian Island fishing outpost of Dutch Harbor, en route to another famed Alaskan port called Nome. Smack dab in the Bering Strait, the crew was enjoying a spectacular summer day, with a radiant blue sky reflected in a calm, almost mirror-flat sea. One month into our hopeful voyage Around the Americas, the reality of the quest – and the burgeoning regime and routine it would take to pull it off – was truly beginning to settle in.

It was like that famous line from the Wizard of Oz: Figuratively speaking, we weren’t in Kansas anymore. But the reality of the situation was that we were all a long way from home, from places in Iowa, Nebraska, California, Washington and Rhode Island. And we wouldn’t be getting back there anytime soon.

Today, of course, the journey is over; Ocean Watch is bobbing at a dock, getting a well-deserved rest; and this will be my final crew log (220 preceded it). For a sailing writer, chronicling this voyage in a daily, serial fashion has been a rare, special opportunity, and it wouldn’t have happened without a list of friends, supporters, sponsors and family that is too long to list here. The same goes for everyone who sailed aboard Ocean Watch, especially the core crew. On behalf of us all, thank you. And thanks also to everyone who followed the trip, especially the students who joined us from their classrooms. From everything we saw, the future is in extremely good hands.

There are a million things we could add here, but for now, let’s address some rather open-ended questions, ones we’ve been asked on numerous occasions since wrapping up the voyage about a fortnight ago.

What’s going to happen to Ocean Watch?
Ocean Watch will be spending the summer at Shilshole Marina in Seattle under the watchful eyes of Andy Gregory, who was a key member of the refit and shore team, and first mate Dave Logan, and will receive a lavish amount of tender loving care following a job well done. Long-term plans are still coming together, as skipper Mark Schrader considers several options ranging from charters to educational voyages to ocean conservation projects.

Will there be a book and a documentary?
That is the plan, and both are in the preliminary stages, though at this writing we’re still seeking funding and/or sponsorship to make both happen. For more information on related opportunities, contact Dawn Curtis Hanley at dcurtishanley@gmail.com.

What are the plans for the website and other updates?
The expedition website will continue to live with new content coming forth from the education and science teams. You can also follow future Around the Americas happenings, including speaking engagements, via Facebook and Twitter (@AroundAmericas). A good way to track down fresh content on the www.aroundtheamericas.org website is through an RSS feed.

What’s an RSS feed?
We’re glad you asked. Live from my current, adjacent cubicle that Pacific Science Center has graciously loaned me this week is onboard educator Zeta Strickland. Zeta, take it away: “The posting schedule for content on the Around the Americas website is changing now that the expedition portion has come to a close. But we will be periodically posting updates on the project, what people are doing, and information about some of our partners in ocean health issues. We know the periodic posting schedule can be tough to follow, so we’d like to encourage you to sign up for the RSS feed of the Around the Americas website. Just click on the orange and white RSS feed button on the upper right corner of the ATA home page.

“Once you have set it up, you no longer have to keep checking the ATA website to see when we post new content. Instead, new content will automatically be posted on your home web page, to the RSS feed on your mobile phone, or to the RSS reader of your choice (Google has one, as do other groups and sites). While you are at it, include other blogs and websites that you follow, including Pacific Science Center, Sailors for the Sea, or other travel/sailing/marine-themed blogs. Once you start following websites this way, you’ll love it.”

Okay, last question: How’s everybody doing?
Well, as I said in my last crew log, finishing a long trip is often harder than doing it, as the day-to-day schedule of the voyage itself makes the days pass quickly. To be honest, now that the prolonged adrenaline rush is over, getting back into the swing of things has been challenging, but interesting. But we’re all doing just fine.

The other night, up at Mark’s place north of Seattle, the grills were fired up and we enjoyed a lovely evening surrounded by family and friends, the unsung heroes of Around the Americas. In the Wizard of Oz, of course, Dorothy never actually left Kansas; her wanderings were the result of a bump on the noggin. Well, we did leave our comfortable surroundings, and the sights we saw – in the Bering Sea, the Northwest Passage, the Falklands, Cape Horn, Galapagos, the west coast, and so on – are something we’ll never, ever forget. As it turns out, the American continents really are one island, surrounded by one ocean. We need to keep pressing the message: We must take better care.

But for now we need to return to Ballard and Lake Okoboji and Santa Barbara and Newport and all the other places from which the extended Ocean Watch family hails. It was a wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime experience, but it’s good to be back. Mate, it was a long bloody trip. And as it turns out, Dorothy was right: There’s no place like home.

Okay, one final thought. Last night, I hauled the remainder of my stuff off the boat, including the two Little Wing carbon-fiber kayaks that proved so useful and fun over the course of our journey. Speaking of home, that’s what Ocean Watch was to all of us for the better part of thirteen months. I’m not one for long goodbyes, so once everything was stashed in my pick-up, with one last armful of gear and paddles I strolled up the docks of Shilshole, with no intention whatsoever of even looking back.

I almost made it back to the truck. But halfway up the ramp, what the heck, I couldn’t help myself, and spun around for one long, last look.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

June 24, 2010 – Seattle, Washington
By Herb McCormick

It’s been precisely seven days now since Ocean Watch and her crew stepped ashore at Seattle’s Shilshole Marina to close the circle on the expedition Around the Americas, and in a lot of ways, the last week has been a whole lot stranger and more bizarre than the fifty-five – the length of the voyage – that proceeded it. The core crew of OW – never known or described as paragons of organization – has been a good deal more disoriented and discombobulated than usual, which is saying something. But the truth of the matter is finally becoming crystal clear: There are no more provisions to be laid in, courses to figure out, or watches to stand.

We’re home, and it’s good to be here. Um, we’re pretty sure.

The hardest part of an extended voyage, as many sailors will attest, is finishing it. You think, feel and act differently. Your internal clock, once set by the wind and the waves and the rhythm of shipboard life, is now governed by the uncontrollable, inconvenient and external realities and pressures of a 9-5 schedule and rush-hour traffic. You look at the world, and particularly its trials, travails and trivialities, in an altered and bemused state. Or at least you try to. The trouble with all this, of course, is that society hasn’t changed, even if you have. And if you can’t deal with it, that’s your problem, and nobody else’s.

We’d been back precisely two hours, after much attendant hoopla at Shilshole, when skipper Mark Schrader, dropping me off downtown, was pulled over by a Seattle cop because the registration tags on his Volvo had expired. Granted, being a policeman is not an easy job, but by any standards, the officer was a particularly dour sort. Anyway, I have to say that the irony and timing of the situation, the deathly serious attitude of the totally miserable policeman – after all, this wasn’t a bomb in Times Square – and Mark’s understandable frustration with all of it struck me as fairly hilarious. Mark failed to, uh, share my mirth. Welcome back, Kotter? Nope, welcome back, Captain. Have a nice stinking day.

In any event, due to a veritable whirlwind of activity, as we got onto the business of wrapping things up, matters improved measurably within fairly short order.

First off was a reception and dinner at Pacific Science Center, a wonderful affair where we caught up with oodles of friends, family and supporters. The next day was a Marine Health Symposium at the Applied Physics Lab of the University of Washington, with presentations from many of the scientists we’d partnered with on projects during the course of the expedition – it was great to reunite with them and learn more about their ongoing research, and our role in it. Finally, there was a big Open House at Fisherman’s Terminal followed by a public presentation at PSC’s Eames Theatre. David T’s photos were sensational on the big IMAX screen.

And then, our official duties – presto! – were over. The Aussies have a great saying about the passage of time: From go to whoa. Suddenly, the go was gone. It was all about the woe. I mean, whoa.

Since then, we’ve been lugging gear off the boat; emptying the fridge and freezers (chicken, anybody?); hauling more stuff off Ocean Watch; trying to assimilate into some kind of routine that resembles our former lives; and ferrying tons more gear off the yacht, whose waterline seems to rise considerably with each passing day.

When I sat down to write this little missive, I did so with the full intention of trying to sum up the experience of sailing Around the Americas. But…I can’t. Not yet. Like my mates and brothers in this crazy adventure, I’m still numb by all of it. Please bear with me (and us) for a little while longer. I’ll post another update, a reflective one, early next week, with details on new content for our website, which will remain active and vibrant, and other matters, including the latest news on book and documentary projects and related issues.

For now, thanks to everyone, but especially those who’ve stopped by the boat or sent emails, letters and messages to us since our return to Seattle. We’re honored, grateful and humbled.

And, you know, confused. As it turns out, the voyage was the easy part. Coming back? Well, that’s a good deal more complicated.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

June 17, 2010 – Seattle, Washington
By Herb McCormick

Long ago and far away, when Mark Schrader was but a wee lad growing up on a Nebraska farm, on one fine summer day he drew a big circle on a map of the family spread and then hopped on his bike to trace his line. The simple act became something of a ritual. As the boy grew into a man, whenever a matter large or small piqued his curiosity, he’d get out a pen and draw a circle around it. It was a way to bring order, reason and structure to issues and concepts that didn’t always have hard, measurable boundaries.

A handful of years ago, on a voyage with his mates David Rockefeller, Jr. and David Treadway, the conversation turned to the topic of ocean health and changing climates, and before too long, Mark was again searching for his pencil. What he doodled this time was a large loop on a map of North and South America, and the trip it symbolized was something altogether different than a lap around some low, flat cornfields.

Nope, the idea this time was to set sail on what might best be described as an environmental adventure, a long voyage of learning, research, awareness and discovery on a relatively tiny boat. The journey would dramatize and symbolize the notion that the American continents were a single island surrounded by a common ocean; that what happened on the land would ultimately effect the watery world that surrounded it; and that it was in the best interests of all of us to protect and conserve this most precious, life-sustaining resource.

The circle on the map would ultimately be known as an expedition called Around the Americas, and it would come to consume the dreams and lives not only of the three chaps who conceived it, but a wide team of sailors, scientists, teachers and students, as well as countless citizens of that great big island from all walks of life. That circle became an odyssey that left Seattle a little over a year ago, at first bound northward through the legendary Northwest Passage, then southward past the epic Southern Ocean landmark known as Cape Horn, and then once again north for Seattle, where it all began.

Today, just before noon local time, after 382 incredible days and with 27,524 nautical miles in her wake, the 64-foot cutter, Ocean Watch, sidled up to a dock in the familiar surroundings of Shilshole Marina on Puget Sound, to put the finishing touches on what had started as a sketch in a notepad and ended up taking on a life and mission all of its own. What began as a dream – and not at all a particularly reasonable one – concluded with arcs of water aimed skyward from the hoses of a Seattle Fire Department rescue tug. As the mist from the fire boat once again settled back into the sea, there was only one thing to say.

At long last, Mark’s crazy circle is complete.

Fittingly, along with Skipper Schrader, mate Dave Logan, photographer David Thoreson, oceanographer Michael Reynolds and me, the busy typist, for the final miles from Port Townsend, the core crew was joined by a boatload of mates who’ve played a major role in the journey and logged significant miles aboard Ocean Watch on different legs of the voyage. In no particular order, and with sincere thanks to all of them, it was fantastic to wrap up matters with Kirsty Moen, Bryan Reeves, Warren Buck, Dan Clark, Horacio Rosell, David Rockefeller, Jr., Gretchen Hund, Tyler Osberg, Roxanne Nanninga, Bryce Seidl, Axel Schweiger, Harry Stern and Zeta Strickland.

The day started early, at a shade past five a.m., and by the time Shilshole hove into view, a fine spectator fleet had joined Ocean Watch to welcome her home. Kids on the beach waved signs and greetings, and another throng of well wishers lined the docks as mate Logan nestled the steel yacht alongside for the final time. In remarks to the crowd, Mark said, it’s a magnificent highway out there, and we took it.”

Yes, we did. It was an honor and a privilege, the adventure of a lifetime.

At the moment, visitors are wandering through the boat, things are rather chaotic, and the crew is having a difficult time processing exactly what’s transpired. Personally, I’m having trouble figuring out if this has been the longest year of my life or the shortest, and if today is the happiest one ever or the saddest.

In the days ahead, we’ll continue to file stories here on our website with updates on the science and education programs, future plans for the expedition and some reflections on the voyage. So we’ll save our goodbyes for another day. For now, we’re just soaking things in. It’s great to be home.

Okay, one revelation as we roll out the door: Surprise, surprise, we went out to try, in some very small way, to help change the world, and we ended up changed ourselves.

Thanks for reading. The circle is closed.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

For the complete coverage, we are going to our friend and colleague at Pacific Science Center, Alice Enevoldsen. Alice works at Pacific Science Center, and writes a blog called AstroInfo in which she answers astronomical questions from Pacific Science Center staff, and highlight interesting goings-on in the world of astronomy.

In her most recent post, she explains how Around the Americas now has a presence on Mars. You can read more of her posts here, and her post on Mars is below.

From Alice:

What does Around the Americas have to do with Mars?

Well, nothing. But Dr. Amy Knudson from the Planetary Science Institute was volunteering with Pacific Science Center during the exhibit Facing Mars, and she works with the Mars Exploration Rovers doing soil analysis among other things. She was asking if we had recommendations for naming little things on Mars. The names had to be nautical, so I told her about Around the Americas and Ocean Watch. A few weeks later she returned, telling us that she’d proposed the name for one of the patches of soil she was analyzing and it had been accepted!

She’s just sent me some photos of Ocean Watch on Mars as taken by Opportunity (also known as Mars Exploration Rover B). She is continuing to name other soils and rocks after Around the Americas’ ports of call.

Show Me the Dirt*!

Opportunity took this picture on Sol 2225 (martian day 2225) with its panoramic camera. This image is approximately true color, and shows a small impression where Opportunity’s instrument rested during the soil analysis.

Nothing has been released about the analysis of this soil yet – so your best guess about that texture is just great. Be the scientist – what do you think those “bubbles” are? Are they depressions or spheres? Are they hard? Soft? Are they just shapes in the sand that are easily disrupted or are they harder? Look at how they are different when they’ve been pressed by the instrument. Does that help you determine what they’re like? What might have caused them?

Using the microscopic imager Opportunity took a close up picture of the soil before deploying the “IDD” – the “Instrument Deployment Device” – also known as the arm.

Using the microscopic imager Opportunity took another close up picture of the soil AFTER deploying the arm. You can see where the instrument rested in the upper right of the picture. Some of the little bubbles or depressions are flattened, and others have been entirely squished.

Naming on Mars

If you follow the rover missions you’ll have heard of rocks and landforms on Mars named things like “Chocolate Hills,” “Concepcíon,” “Columbia Hills,” “Endurance,” or “Jenny.” Naming of objects in the solar system has to go through the International Astronomical Union (IAU), which can take years. In order to stay sane and not constantly have to say to each other “let’s take a look at that rock” or “shall we drive to crater 001-5BX?” the technicians and scientists working with the Mars rovers assign their own names to these items. Ocean Watch is such a name. I find it likely that many of these names will stick – having been used for years by the time the IAU has time to choose official names – but some will be changed, and some are of locations too small for anyone to care about once the rover has driven on. Ocean Watch is a very small patch of soil (about 1/4 of a square meter), so who knows what will happen.

For now though, a little patch of a distant planet holds a name that reminds us of the fragility of our own planet, and honors the excitement of doing science and science outreach.

Want More?

More information about this soil will eventually be posted in the MER Analyst’s Notebook.

* Technically, I wouldn’t use the word “dirt” because that tends to imply organic content … but, forgive me this time.

Thank you, Amy.

And thank you, Alice, for helping bring a little of the Around the Americas mission to interplanetary levels!

- Around the Americas Education Team

June 15, 2010 – Strait of Juan de Fuca, Washington
By Herb McCormick and Roxanne Nanninga

If you stroll up off the docks, hang a right and walk down the quiet highway in the fishing port of Neah Bay, after about a mile you’ll come to a tidy little park with flags flying that commemorates three things: the heritage of the First American natives of the Pacific Northwest, the Makah Nation people, the watermen and women who thrived along this rich coastline for centuries; the Spanish explorers that were the first Europeans to also populate these shores; and the local people who’ve served this country with honor in distant wars.

As war memorials go, the one in Neah Bay is pretty unique. For at the bottom of the black marble tribute, engraved with dozens and dozens of names, is a three-word inscription that couldn’t be more powerful, positive or succinct: “All came home.”

Thank you to the soldiers and sailors of Neah Bay.

Heaven knows our fortunate and even blessed voyage Around the Americas has been anything but a battle, and this anecdote is not meant to be a comparison in any way. But as I took a walk this morning while waiting for the tide to come in so we could get underway on the final leg of this trip to Seattle, the words rang true for other reasons. For here aboard Ocean Watch, we’re headed home.

But first we have a stop to make. When we left Seattle on May 31^st, 2009, our first call was at Port Townsend, so it only makes sense that we should check in on the way back. Besides, our sailmaker, Carol Hasse, calls Port Townsend home, and we need to drop her off on the way by. At midday Tuesday we left our overnight berth along the fishing docks in Neah Bay bound for Port Townsend. The plan is to anchor tonight, one more time, somewhere along the way up the strait. Tomorrow around noon, we’ll fetch up alongside the Northwest Maritime Center & Wooden Boat Foundation and send Hasse back to the sail loft. If you happen to be in Port Townsend, pop by and say hello. [Note from the shore team: dockside open house at the Northwest Maritime Center from 3-5pm on Wednesday, June 15th. More details are available on our Port Townsend page.]

There’s the latest onboard update, but for today’s crew log, we have two tales in one. The second piece is an essay by Pacific Science Center teacher Roxanne Nanninga, who proved to be an invaluable crewmember on our travels through South and Central America, and on through California. Now back in Seattle, Roxanne reflects on her experiences with the expedition while managing, frankly, to make the rest of us blush. Thanks for your dedication as a teacher and for everything else, Roxanne, including this story:

Reflections on a Voyage of Discovery
By Roxanne Nanninga

As the first fingers of light began reaching over the gray sea on the morning of our approach to Santa Barbara, I sat crouched in a ball to stay warm against the cold wind, and considered the journey that had brought me this far. From the Christmas fireworks and apprehension in Punta del Este, Uruguay, through mastery of a curriculum in two languages and a respectable amount of blue water sailing for a complete novice, I decided I’ve come a long way, not just in miles but also as a teacher and as an individual seeking to understand the great scope of our Earth’s environment and its people.

The crew of Ocean Watch and I all seem to agree that the people we’ve met along the way have been what’s made this ambitious project so worthwhile. The kids I have met need no convincing that our ocean is precious and deserves protecting. It’s not just the students, however. Parents, teachers, sailors, and scientists alike expressed gratitude to us for bringing awareness to such critical issues as climate change, ocean acidification, plastics pollution, and a basic understanding of the oceans and its life-giving processes.

These human interactions have often been very brief but that’s all it takes to make an impression. In Uruguay we received an invitation to a home-cooked Christmas dinner. In Chile, where there seemed to be the greatest abundance of kind and helpful people, very early on the morning of my arrival, I bonded with an immigration officer over our shared frustrations with US Visa policies.  There were taxi drivers in Peru who shared with me their authentic sentiments of love for their country, and sometimes disgust, too, offering rare insight to a foreigner. There have been teachers; port authorities; yacht club presidents; library and aquarium staff; random people who saw the website or the news and wanted to be involved; and many, many others who have gone out of their way to help us accomplish our mission or just make our lives away from home more comfortable.  Without them this trip would have had no meaning.

There have also been many non-human encounters that have shaped my experience, the biggest being the sea itself. Dark and formidable, the open ocean is a humbling place. My first memorable night at sea was crossing the mouth of Rio de la Plata in Argentina. An eerie glow from distant Buenos Aires sat on the horizon offering no sense of comfort in the shadowy night, the clouds sometimes parting to reveal a nearly full moon. The glow was echoed on the surrounding phosphorescent-tinged whitecaps. The effect gave me the creeps and I remember counting the minutes until morning.

Fortunately, that feeling eventually passed and I came to appreciate the night watches, especially on a clear, star-lit night.  Others who have spent time at sea know that the skies there are unmatched. The immensity of space that spans both above and below where you sit is a great reminder of our human frailty. In the Southern Hemisphere you could even peer into a neighboring galaxy known as the Magellenic Clouds, or Clusters.  However, just as I would start to believe we were alone on the sea, a dolphin, whale, or bird would come along to disrupt the illusion and remind me of the entire teeming world of life just below the surface.

As you may guess, spending time on a small vessel or in foreign countries with just a few other travelers affords many opportunities to get to know one another in a way not generally possible. The crew of Ocean Watch is a select and accomplished group, whom I have enjoyed getting to know immensely. I have heard Mark refer to his crew as family and with all they have been through and the time spent together through fortune, dysfunction, and understanding I can think of no better term for it. Being one of the few females to take part in this dynamic gives me a unique perspective on it as well. I would like to take a moment to comment on what I have appreciated and learned from each one of them.

From the beginning, Captain Mark Schrader has been warm and welcoming, inviting me into this strange and exclusive world of sailors. His determination is impressive; he was always doing whatever it takes to get where we had to be safely and as on time as possible, which is no small feat.  His passion for ocean stewardship is what has pressed this project forward since its conception, and his desire for perfection has urged us all to do our best work and to stay focused on why we are here: to bring eyes and ears to the plight of our oceans and inspire people to take action to protect it in their respective parts of the Americas.

First mate Dave Logan has been the oil in what makes the entire engine of Around the Americas run smoothly. Purposely understated, Dave often rejects praise for his accomplishments but we all know we wouldn’t have made it around without his hard work and expertise.  Additionally, he has been an essential help with the educational programs, having acted as my “lovely assistant” on many occasions, leading boat tours, setting up banners, sails and our traveling expedition tent, and enchanting both adults and children with his stories and quiet sense of humor.

Our writer is Herb McCormick, whom many of you may feel you know best through his daily logs to the web, which have given voice to this mission and have taught many profound things through his subtle stories. Herb has also provided the salty attitude and humor needed to keep the trip fun. His call-it-as-I-see-it commentary is alternately poignant and hilarious. On one occasion he even agreed to run a writer’s workshop for a hundred thirteen-year-olds at the Yacht Club in Lima. Despite his initial nervousness (yes, the ever-cool Herb McCormick does, in fact, get nervous on occasion) his contributions were a true highlight to the day’s event and I was grateful for it.

David Thoreson, our photographer, has given Around the Americas its face and context with his stunning imagery taken along the entire expedition. His ubiquitous presence at events happening at sea or in port has given us a thoroughly documented voyage and makes me wonder if he ever really sleeps. He was, however, the only one who could convince me to sleep on my first anxious night at sea. Always happy to share his candid opinion, he has proven also to be a great listener and his support was a great comfort to me throughout the journey.

Though Dr. Michael Reynolds was not a part of the core crew, I think he has been along for enough of it to be counted as an honorary member.  He has not only kept us focused on the scientific discovery of this mission but has also helped remind us all to relax a little. Never flustered, Michael would carry on with his science in the background no matter what other chaos had ensued. He offered interesting and humorous tidbits on watch and kept me on my toes by finding hats, cameras, and other items the sometimes absent-minded professor would leave behind. Still, we owe a great deal of our credibility to him.

There were of course many others I have had the pleasure of traveling with along the way. Though I can’t mention them all by name here, each one helped enrich my time with this voyage. Thanks to all of you.

I think I speak for all of us when I say it will take a considerable amount of time to fully process the experiences we’ve had with the project and sometimes lifestyle called Around the Americas. I have learned a great deal and given much of myself. And I feel grateful.

-Herb McCormick and Roxanne Nanninga with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

Reflections on a Voyage of Discovery
By Roxanne Nanninga

As the first fingers of light began reaching over the gray sea on the morning of our approach to Santa Barbara, I sat crouched in a ball to stay warm against the cold wind, and considered the journey that had brought me this far. From the Christmas fireworks and apprehension in Punta del Este, Uruguay, through mastery of a curriculum in two languages and a respectable amount of blue water sailing for a complete novice, I decided I’ve come a long way, not just in miles but also as a teacher and as an individual seeking to understand the great scope of our Earth’s environment and its people.

The crew of Ocean Watch and I all seem to agree that the people we’ve met along the way have been what’s made this ambitious project so worthwhile. The kids I have met need no convincing that our ocean is precious and deserves protecting. It’s not just the students, however. Parents, teachers, sailors, and scientists alike expressed gratitude to us for bringing awareness to such critical issues as climate change, ocean acidification, plastics pollution, and a basic understanding of the oceans and its life-giving processes.

These human interactions have often been very brief but that’s all it takes to make an impression. In Uruguay we received an invitation to a home-cooked Christmas dinner. In Chile, where there seemed to be the greatest abundance of kind and helpful people, very early on the morning of my arrival, I bonded with an immigration officer over our shared frustrations with US Visa policies.  There were taxi drivers in Peru who shared with me their authentic sentiments of love for their country, and sometimes disgust, too, offering rare insight to a foreigner. There have been teachers; port authorities; yacht club presidents; library and aquarium staff; random people who saw the website or the news and wanted to be involved; and many, many others who have gone out of their way to help us accomplish our mission or just make our lives away from home more comfortable.  Without them this trip would have had no meaning.

There have also been many non-human encounters that have shaped my experience, the biggest being the sea itself. Dark and formidable, the open ocean is a humbling place. My first memorable night at sea was crossing the mouth of Rio de la Plata in Argentina. An eerie glow from distant Buenos Aires sat on the horizon offering no sense of comfort in the shadowy night, the clouds sometimes parting to reveal a nearly full moon. The glow was echoed on the surrounding phosphorescent-tinged whitecaps. The effect gave me the creeps and I remember counting the minutes until morning.

Fortunately, that feeling eventually passed and I came to appreciate the night watches, especially on a clear, star-lit night.  Others who have spent time at sea know that the skies there are unmatched. The immensity of space that spans both above and below where you sit is a great reminder of our human frailty. In the Southern Hemisphere you could even peer into a neighboring galaxy known as the Magellenic Clouds, or Clusters.  However, just as I would start to believe we were alone on the sea, a dolphin, whale, or bird would come along to disrupt the illusion and remind me of the entire teeming world of life just below the surface.

As you may guess, spending time on a small vessel or in foreign countries with just a few other travelers affords many opportunities to get to know one another in a way not generally possible. The crew of Ocean Watch is a select and accomplished group, whom I have enjoyed getting to know immensely. I have heard Mark refer to his crew as family and with all they have been through and the time spent together through fortune, dysfunction, and understanding I can think of no better term for it. Being one of the few females to take part in this dynamic gives me a unique perspective on it as well. I would like to take a moment to comment on what I have appreciated and learned from each one of them.

From the beginning, Captain Mark Schrader has been warm and welcoming, inviting me into this strange and exclusive world of sailors. His determination is impressive; he was always doing whatever it takes to get where we had to be safely and as on time as possible, which is no small feat.  His passion for ocean stewardship is what has pressed this project forward since its conception, and his desire for perfection has urged us all to do our best work and to stay focused on why we are here: to bring eyes and ears to the plight of our oceans and inspire people to take action to protect it in their respective parts of the Americas.

First mate Dave Logan has been the oil in what makes the entire engine of Around the Americas run smoothly. Purposely understated, Dave often rejects praise for his accomplishments but we all know we wouldn’t have made it around without his hard work and expertise.  Additionally, he has been an essential help with the educational programs, having acted as my “lovely assistant” on many occasions, leading boat tours, setting up banners, sails and our traveling expedition tent, and enchanting both adults and children with his stories and quiet sense of humor.

Our writer is Herb McCormick, whom many of you may feel you know best through his daily logs to the web, which have given voice to this mission and have taught many profound things through his subtle stories. Herb has also provided the salty attitude and humor needed to keep the trip fun. His call-it-as-I-see-it commentary is alternately poignant and hilarious. On one occasion he even agreed to run a writer’s workshop for a hundred thirteen-year-olds at the Yacht Club in Lima. Despite his initial nervousness (yes, the ever-cool Herb McCormick does, in fact, get nervous on occasion) his contributions were a true highlight to the day’s event and I was grateful for it.

David Thoreson, our photographer, has given Around the Americas its face and context with his stunning imagery taken along the entire expedition. His ubiquitous presence at events happening at sea or in port has given us a thoroughly documented voyage and makes me wonder if he ever really sleeps. He was, however, the only one who could convince me to sleep on my first anxious night at sea. Always happy to share his candid opinion, he has proven also to be a great listener and his support was a great comfort to me throughout the journey.

Though Dr. Michael Reynolds was not a part of the core crew, I think he has been along for enough of it to be counted as an honorary member.  He has not only kept us focused on the scientific discovery of this mission but has also helped remind us all to relax a little. Never flustered, Michael would carry on with his science in the background no matter what other chaos had ensued. He offered interesting and humorous tidbits on watch and kept me on my toes by finding hats, cameras, and other items the sometimes absent-minded professor would leave behind. Still, we owe a great deal of our credibility to him.

There were of course many others I have had the pleasure of traveling with along the way. Though I can’t mention them all by name here, each one helped enrich my time with this voyage. Thanks to all of you.

I think I speak for all of us when I say it will take a considerable amount of time to fully process the experiences we’ve had with the project and sometimes lifestyle called Around the Americas. I have learned a great deal and given much of myself. And I feel grateful.

June 14, 2010 – Neah Bay, Washington
By Herb McCormick

We’ve seen our fair share of capes and points on this voyage Around the Americas: At the tippy-top of North America we gazed upon a glorified sand spit called Zenith Point, and at the very end of South America we took in true glory in all its wild majesty at wild Cape Horn. For heaven’s sake, along the eastern seaboard alone we negotiated Cape Cod, Cape May, Cape Hatteras, Cape Lookout and Cape Canaveral. It took us forever and a day to get past Punta Calcanhar on the east coast of Brazil, and on the other side of the Americas, we got our hats handed to us soon after losing sight of, first, Cabo San Lucas, and later, Point Conception.

But today on Ocean Watch, we rounded perhaps the most momentous cape of all. That’s because it was the last one.

The late, great Johnny Cash once observed, “I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere.” Now we know what he meant. For at just a little after four this afternoon Pacific time, the 64-foot steel cutter that’s taken us just about everywhere rounded Cape Flattery at the mouth of the Strait of Juan de Fuca – entering the newly designated Salish Sea, so named in honor of the “First Nation” Americans of this wondrous coast – and in the process exited once and for all the big, beautiful Pacific Ocean on this long, strange trip around the continents. At last, we’d entered the relatively protected, tree-lined corridors of the Pacific Northwest.

For skipper Mark Schrader, mate Dave Logan and oceanographer Michael Reynolds, these were home waters, too. Let’s air out a few more clichés: Ocean Watch is on the back nine, headed down the stretch and smelling the barn. Yes, the great, big boat that has taken us all on the greatest, biggest adventure of all our lives, is around the corner and on the way home.

Home sweet home.

Of course, because we never do anything the easy way, getting around that corner – the lighthouse at Tatoosh Island off Cape Flattery – on the final day offshore, almost put us all around the bloody bend. Since I’ve employed all the adjectives already, on countless occasions, I’ll spare everyone the platitudes of misery. Let’s put it this way: It was rough, we were tired and our reservoir of patience for such things was a dry gulch. A happy crew we were not.

Luckily, conditions did moderate slightly during the night, and we even witnessed the world’s quickest sunrise during the dawn watch. Imagine yourself in a dark bedroom on the second floor of a two-story house, with the window cracked ever so slightly, just emitting a horizontal patch of light. Now pretend a kid on the street just threw a basketball to his pal on the roof. That orange sphere, between the slate-gray sea and a low, dank horizon, was pretty much indicative of the extent of sunrise this morning.

I snapped a couple quick pictures, to which Logan said, “Congratulations, you now have one of the extremely rare photographs of the sun rising over the coast of Washington.”

Then it was just gray.

Even so, the coastline was beautiful, and sailmaker Carol Hasse, who’s ranged along these watery parts for many moons, was an excellent tour guide for a guy like me who’d never seen it before. The first American to circumnavigate, a Bostonian fur trader called Captain Robert Gray, was the man who named both the Columbia River and, just a little farther north, Gray’s Harbor. Then there were the sea stacks known as the Needles and Cape Alava along the rustic coast of the Olympic National Parks wilderness beach. If had been a clear day, we would’ve seen Mount Olympus, the rainforest that receives more moisture on an annual basis than anyplace else in the continental United States, which of course is why we couldn’t see it.

And then, finally, there was Cape Flattery and the lighthouse on Tatoosh Island, the home of the Makah Nation, the great Native American whalers and craftsmen of the Pacific Northwest.

The Corner: We were at the corner.

Like Cape Horn, the emotion of it caught us a bit by surprise. We took a hundred pictures. We hugged and laughed. We turned the boat, dropped the sails and motored into the little fishing village of Neah Bay. It was cold. We were in desperate need of hot showers and vats of shampoo. We couldn’t have been more pleased with any of it.

After all, in many more ways than one, we’d turned the corner. We’ve almost been everywhere, man. We’ve almost been everywhere.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

June 13, 2010 – At Sea, 46º 27’N, 124º 16’W
By Herb McCormick

We’ve been thrown for a loop near Labrador, gobbled up by the Gulf Stream, roiled off Rio, pounded in Patagonia, and plastered in sight of Point Conception. At various times on the voyage Around the Americas, like an unlucky letter, we’ve been spindled, folded and mutilated by contrary currents, wicked winds and stupendous seas. Oh yes, we’ve been slapped around plenty, so much so that photographer David Thoreson has a pithy, concise name for it: “nosebleeds.” If the weather can be thought of as a schoolyard bully, we’ve had more lousy recesses than the biggest nerd in class.

And now, with 27,000 nautical miles behind us, at long last once again off the coast of Washington, and with the finish line in Seattle just a few days away, wouldn’t you know it: one last nosebleed.

On Sunday afternoon, the core crew of Ocean Watch – along with scientists Michael Reynolds and Axel Schweiger, and sail-maker Carol Hasse – were bouncing and flailing their way north towards the Strait of Juan de Fuca in yet another substantial northerly and a long, sometimes breaking northern swell. Though by late afternoon the Strait was just a little over a hundred miles away – after all this time, that ain’t far – there was no question it would take a long night to get there.

But waiting another day was out of the question.

The reason for that is twofold: In this final week of the voyage, we have plenty of appointments scheduled and in place, including a quick stop in Port Townsend on Wednesday and a return to Seattle on Thursday at midday. For once in our AtA lives, we ARE going to be on time. Um, we hope. But the forecast for offshore waters in the Pacific Northwest for the next several days indicates the present northwestly flow, spinning around a big high-pressure center, is going to strengthen, not weaken, as the week progresses. So, it was time to go, Joe.

Leaving the Columbia River, of course, involves a transit over the notorious Columbia River Bar, and after a quick layover in Astoria last night – and what a cool, little waterfront town that is, even though the locals joked that yesterday’s sunny day constituted the whole of “summer” – conditions were better than average to make a run into the Pacific. Indeed, the cool, cloudy skies this morning were more indicative of an average Astoria day, but when the Coast Guard issued a bar report at about 9 o’clock this morning that indicated 15-knot winds and 4-6 foot seas, we were soon underway.

Once into the bar itself, the winds and seas seemed moderately higher, but with mate Dave Logan doing the piloting, Ocean Watch crossed back into the Pacific without mishap. However, as we tacked north into the open ocean, both the breeze and the seaway became more aggressive, and before long we were watching a movie we’d already seen too many times before.

The good news is, Ocean Watch knows the drill, and once around Cape Flattery at the entrance to the Strait we should have an ideal angle to bear off and enjoy the trip’s final stages. But that’s a story for a different day (hopefully, tomorrow!). Until then, excuse us while we search for the Kleenex.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

June 12, 2010 – Astoria, Oregon
By Herb McCormick

As it turned out, it was a lot easier getting out of Portland than getting in. At 0600 today, the crew of Ocean Watch untied the dock lines and set forth down the Willamette River en route to, in turn, the Columbia River, the town of Astoria, the Pacific Ocean, the Straits of Juan de Fuca and Port Townsend, Washington, the penultimate stop before returning to Seattle in the middle of next week. The Around the Americas voyage is almost around.

First off, we had to get out of Portland, an exercise that is accomplished by negotiating a dizzying and very rapid sequence of bridges. Last Wednesday night, we were stopped just short of our ultimate goal – the docks at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) in the heart of the city – due to construction on the Broadway bridge, which supposedly required a 24-hour advance warning to open for waterborne traffic. In the actual event, we made it through the phalanx of bridges at 6 p.m. on Thursday after a day tied up to a boat-ramp dock in a blighted patch of water called Swan Basin, which will remind nobody of the Garden of Eden.

Today, Saturday, was the annual Rose Festival in Portland, complete with the Grand Floral Parade, a carnival and all sorts of related shenanigans, and we were told in no uncertain terms that if we wanted out from the labyrinth of bridges before the onslaught of vehicular traffic rolling into the city, we’d have one chance, at 6 a.m., which made for an early morning onboard.

For the run to Astoria, along with the regular crew which for the last several months has included oceanographer Michael Reynolds, we had a boatload of passengers, including educator Zeta Strickland, local yachting writer Peter Marsh, scientist Axel Schweiger and Stephanie Anderson, who developed the K-8 curriculum in ocean studies for our website. Also aboard was our beloved sailmaker, Carol Hasse, whose sail loft, Port Townsend Sails, built the working sail inventory for Ocean Watch’s spin around the continents. At one point, Carol, who with Axel is crewing on to Port Townsend, mentioned that Portland is sometimes called the Paris of the Northwest because of the preponderance of bridges. I’d have to agree: Portland is exactly like France but without all the French stuff, including the attitude.

Honestly, the people of Portland greeted us with wide-open arms, and our open house on Friday, as well as our presentation that evening in the OMSI auditorium, drew the largest and arguably the most enthusiastic crowds, both several hundred strong, that we’ve enjoyed during our entire series of shore-side tours. (A big article in Friday’s paper, The Oregonian, clearly primed the pump.) In any event, anxious to get back to Seattle, a few of us were kind of dreading the detour up the river, but our reception in the lovely city made it very much worthwhile. From all of us, thank you, Portland.

What comes up the river, however, usually must do down, and that included Ocean Watch. Happily, the bridge tenders were wide awake and we zipped on through without a hitch, passing, in order, the Marquam, Hawthorne, Morrison, Burnside, Steel (“They couldn’t think up a name,” quipped skipper Mark Schrader), Broadway, Burlington-Northern and St. John’s bridges.

We then had a fantastic day rolling down the river. We stopped briefly in the small Oregonian town of St. Helens for fuel, where kindly souls Toni and Tami, managers at St. Helens Marina, drove us to the store while some of the crew topped off the tanks, another posse hit the grocery store for provisions (and Peter Marsh hopped on his bike, which we’d carried from Portland, and pedaled back!). With the chores addressed, we kept on streaming down the Columbia, this time riding the fair current rather than bucking a contrary flow.

Speaking of St. Helens, not long after we’d purchased our diesel, the famous “mount” of the same name hove into view, of course still missing the pointy peak that the mighty volcano sawed off a quarter century ago. Still, its snow-capped steeps remained gleaming against the backdrop of the brilliant blue sky. Via satellite radio, we caught the U.S.-England World Cup soccer match and the Red Sox-Phillies game back in rainy New England; not everywhere, of course, can be as sunny as Oregon.

By late afternoon, it was decision time: pull in to Astoria for the evening after dropping off Zeta and Stephanie, or carry on over the bar and into the Pacific. The forecast for the next few days calls for strong north winds, so Captain Mark made the call to stop for the night, have a nice dinner and a good sleep, and regroup and carry on for Port Townsend on Sunday.

We’d been up and down the grand Columbia. For now, the last Pacific leg awaits.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.

June 9, 2010 – Portland, Oregon
By Herb McCormick

My favorite sportswriter these days is a guy called Bill Simmons, who writes exclusively for ESPN.com. Think of him as the Dave Barry of ball games; if you like sports, and appreciate wry observations, you should check him out. Before he launched himself onto the national stage and became known as “The Sports Guy,” Simmons was based in Beantown and was referred to as “TBSG”: The Boston Sports Guy. One of his longtime gags is to produce “running diaries” of games and TV programs, a device I’ve shamelessly stolen over the last several months for some of our crew logs. As we ramble the ninety miles up the Columbia River from Astoria to Portland today, it seemed like a perfect time to record a diary of the proceedings. Here goes:

0600: Dave Logan prefaces the action with his usual warning – “Loud noises” – and turns the key to engage our Lugger diesel and get Ocean Watch underway. We are definitely back in the Pacific Northwest: It started raining the minute we dropped the mainsail last evening and it’s raining still. If this keeps up, one thing this log is not going to be is a cavalcade of adjectives describing the shore-side scenery: in the mist and murk, it’s hard to make out the bow. It’s been said that a lack of direct sunshine and cool, misty skies are good for the complexion. If that’s true, by the end of today we should all have skin like Grace Kelly.

0730: In all the commotion of getting on the river, it’s become clear that no one has seen Bryan Reeves, our tireless, indefatigable shore manager, all morning. So, maybe Bryan is human after all. “Is he onboard?” wonders skipper Mark Schrader. I peek up in the forepeak in the upper berth to port, and there’s Bryan, flat on his back, doing a marvelous imitation of a coma patient. Bryan is a climber and mountaineer, and one of his stranger yet endearing qualities is his sleep talking and sleepwalking, the latter of which, by the way, is a terrible idea on a boat. David Thoreson, who shares a cabin with Bryan, recalled his latest episode, just the other night, during which Bryan must have imagined himself free climbing Half Dome or some other sheer wall.  “Fist jam!” murmured Bryan, before returning to sweet slumber. “What a great move!”

0755: Bryan emerges, hair tousled, rubbing sleep from his eyes, but otherwise looking radiant and refreshed; perhaps he was dreaming about dreaming. “How you doin’, mate?” he is asked. “Fine,” he says. “I didn’t get wakened, so I kept sleeping.” What a great move.

0800: Ocean Watch is engineer and mate Dave Logan’s baby and pride of joy, and he will not rest easy until “he” (boats are generally referred to in feminine pronouns, but Logan insists OW is a dude) is safely tied up in Seattle. Though we’ve all sailed tens of thousands of miles, including “almost” 27,000 together, Logan considers the rest of us as novice, incompetent idiots who have a hard time distinguishing the front end of the boat from the back and who’ve conspired against him in uncountable ways to trash his girl, er, boy. “What should we do for watches?” wonders Thoreson. “Skip ‘em,” I reply. “Logan isn’t going to leave the helm anyway.” Logan smiles in agreement.

0830: There’s been a ton of rain in Oregon this summer – surprise! – and the Columbia River is high and swollen. Mark’s received reports that there’s flooding in the upper sections and yesterday said, “We dodged ice up north. Now we need to dodge logs.” Up on deck, just a few minutes ago, Logan was slaloming through branches and various other tree parts like a backcountry skier tearing through a forest. Moments later, down below, there’s an audible slam against Ocean Watch’s tough steel hull: we’ve nipped a little log. I glance topside at Logan, wincing and in obvious pain.

0918: When it comes to miles sailed, forget “almost.” At the stroke of 9:18 a.m., the trip log aboard Ocean Watch rolls over from 26,999 to 27,000, the distance not only around the planet via sailboat but also, apparently, Around the Americas. Teacher Zeta Strickland, who notched several thousand of those miles last summer in the Northwest Passage and who’s rejoined us here in Oregon, says, “That’s the last thousand-mile mark for you guys.” Hallea-stinking-luiah.

1000: In Boca Raton, Florida, lives a prince of a gentleman and a faithful reader of these logs named Richard “Frog” Myerly, and as there’s not much happening at this precise instant, we’d like to take this opportunity to say, “Brother Frog, keep hopping.” We’ll now return to our regularly scheduled report.

1012: It’s stopped raining! Look! Up in the sky! A patch of blue! A patch of blue! A patch of blue!

1013: Good-bye, patch of blue.

1043: All joking aside, the calm, glassy river – banked by Oregon to starboard, Washington to port – is enchanting and lovely, and the overall effect is enhanced, not diminished, by the low, wispy, momentous gray clouds (as well as the plump, ponderous, pregnant ones) hovering over it. We’re all anxious to get to Seattle, and frankly, at first this side trip seemed like a serious disruption, but the scenery is growing on everyone. It’s like motoring through some sort of three-dimensional landscape painting, only prettier. “I’m getting used to this river thing,” says Logan. “Maybe we should saw off the keel and rig and make this boat a river barge.” The idea has merit.

1102: We’re abeam of the ancient Georgia-Pacific paper mill (Zeta’s iPhone, embedded with Google Earth maps, told us so), a belching, smoking, sprawling facility that’s the opposite of idyllic. “Making paper isn’t pretty,” muses Logan. Nope.

1255: For the second time on our spin Around the Americas, we round Cape Horn. Or so I’m told: I’ve just snapped to after a snooze on the settee in the main cabin (though I woke briefly to see where we were on the TV on the central bulkhead, which is playing a live feed from our Spreader Cam…BTW, every boat should have a Spreader Cam). The previous Horn, in South America, is more famous. As I type, I realize I have a crucial question. “Hey Dave, is Cape Horn in Washington or Oregon?”

1256: “Washington.”

1342 (1:42 p.m.): Ocean Watch sidles by Fisher Island, perhaps named for Los Angeles Laker guard Derek Fisher, who singlehandedly demolished the Boston Celtics last night, in the process breaking the tender hearts of hundreds of young New England kids. Thanks, Derek!  (We watched the second half of the game in a loud tavern in Astoria, Oregon, where the local yacht club passed out awards for the spring racing series and even gave a shout-out the Ocean Watch crew.) We mention Fisher Island because it seems to be about the halfway point of the trip from the Pacific to Portland. Long day, no?

1344: Yikes! I pop up on deck to see a face full of trees about a boatlength to starboard; we’re clearly well out of the marked channel. “We’re scraping Oregon,” says Logan. “We’re over here to stay out of the two-and-a-half knot current.” No speed records will be set this day.

1404 (2:04 p.m.): Forty-four tons of Ocean Watch is tossed and spun like a bathtub toy in a swirling countercurrent. “Honeymoon’s over,” says Logan. He then points at an elaborate osprey nest mounted atop a channel marker like a penthouse suite. “We’ve been seeing those all along,” he adds, displaying his warm, sensitive side.

1410: The skipper just glanced up from his computer and had a look at the chartplotter , where he saw the boat icon careening along outside the channel, nearly had a heart attack, and bounded up the companionway to see if Logan had, you know, lost his mind. No more phone calls, we have our winner for the most entertaining moment of the day so far.

1445: It’s raining again. Hard. The precipitation does nothing to enhance the looks of the industrial port of Longview, the central attraction of which is the suspension bridge, which permits people to get the hell out of there. Longview’s view is one of smokestacks and freighters; whoever named the place at least had a sense of humor.

1600 (4 p.m.): Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. Fog, fog, fog, fog, fog. Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist. Bad current. Bad current. Bad current. Bad current. Rain. Fog. Mist. Bad. Current.

1730 (5:30 p.m.): The rain stops, the sun makes the briefest of appearances, and the spectrum of colors forming the full, complete rainbow on the Washington shore is sharply defined and magnificent. People we haven’t seen all day join Logan in the cockpit. Everyone now has a memorable souvenir photo of our ongoing excursion along the Columbia River.

1830 (6:30 p.m.): As luck would have it, it’s my turn to make dinner, a chore we all share on a rotating basis. It occurs to me that this may be the Last Supper I cook on this expedition Around the Americas, and I know that somewhere in our big freezer are three big, beautiful salmon fillets we scored in southern Chile. Our top-loading freezer (we have a smaller one in the galley, too) is stationed in the back of the shop and it’s a gargantuan piece of furniture. Over a year ago, several of us made a shopping trip to the Seattle Costco, and on my hunt for the fish I decide to see exactly what still exists in the bottom of the freezer. I now know the thrills an Egyptian archaeologist must enjoy when unearthing a pharaoh’s tomb. In the interests of making a dent in our stores, I grab two big bags of spinach ravioli I distinctly remember tossing into the cart last May and a few bags of frozen vegetables procured in South America, the clue here being the Spanish labels. I also grab a bag of frozen blueberries that Zeta decides will make a fine crisp for desert. We’ve got a Red Sox game on the satellite radio but they’re getting destroyed in Cleveland. I start cooking.

1930: Diner is served. Everything tastes fine (especially the fish, which is hard to mess up), though the ravioli comes out the consistency of mashed potatoes. My greatest skill as a cook is waiting to serve food until everybody is ravenous. It works again.

2046 (8:46 p.m.): We come to a fork in the river and bear right from the Columbia to the Willamette River, the waterway leading into downtown Portland. Almost immediately, free at last from the contrary current, boat speed leaps from five knots to seven knots, the first time we’ve the seen the magic “7” all day long. It doesn’t take much to make us smile.

2230 (10:30 p.m.): Long story short: A few miles outside of downtown Portland, progress comes to a halt when we learn a railroad bridge just shy of our mooring is closed for construction, and we’ll need to address the situation tomorrow. We end up pulling off the Willamette in an industrial section of the city called Swan Basin, at the very end of which is a small dock next to a boat ramp where a few guys are fishing. As we pull alongside, a fisherman with a slack jaw watches in amazement as we sidle up and tie off; honestly, if a spaceship had landed he wouldn’t have been any more surprised. “You guys got a trailer for that thing?” he wonders. After watching our shenanigans for a few more moments, he follows up with what is perhaps the most insightful question we’ve heard in the last 27,000 miles. “Can I ask you something else?” he asks. “How many captains are on this boat?” So, here we are, up the river, in Portland. Sort of.

-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.