“All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream
by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake
up in the day to find it was vanity, but the dreamers
of the day are dangerous men, for they may act
their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.”

  -TE Lawrence

In the morning I sat on a concrete block next to some mines and torpedoes. They were old, and did not explode when I kicked them in an effort to keep warm among the rain showers and howling wind. I walked up and down the dock, watching the sailors prepare their race boats for the day out at sea. I thought a bit about the journey that has led us here, to the day when we get our boat. I could see the people working on our deck, preparing the last few things, and polishing up their footsteps. At 10:30 I walked down the dock, laden with some of our remaining earthly belongings, and dumped it all in a pile on the pontoon next to a shiny Outremer 4X- KODA- our home for the foreseeable future.

Boats have souls, and this one has a large print of our dog on both hulls. He has his tongue out, blowing in the wind, as he looks towards a yet unknown destination. This is somewhat ironic, as he would have hated everything about the boat. Being wet, moving a lot, open water, no dirt to dig a hole in would have all been anathema to him, so it is good he is not joining us on this journey. We on the other hand, are ready. We have been waiting for four years for this boat, and have put many hours into building and planning. She has existed in our imaginations, in some form or other, since we were small children, and now we are moving aboard, about to commence our round the world sailing trip. From a young age we have both dreamed about the freedom we thought would come from the sea, and now we have a chance to put our theories to the test, to live the life we, and so many others, have dreamed of. We will follow the sun to the west, and maybe one day catch up.

Our first night. We made the bed, and ran our small electric heater almost non-stop. We are in Lorient, France, and it is nearing the end of November. We haven’t had a clear view of the sun since we returned from Spain a week ago. It alternates between apocalyptic rain and low lying overcast gloom. We spent the evening watching some TV, reading, and then went to bed listening to the sound of the halyards (of other boats) slap their masts in the gusts of wind. Spending the first night in a new house is always an interesting feeling. How long will this bed be home? Do I actually like it here? How long until this begins to feel like home?

The next week was intense. Each day we had different people on board our boat, walking us through all the systems and testing everything to make sure it is working. There are still some small details to fix, but we have about a month before we have to go to sea, so there should be plenty of time for the factory to make the final adjustments. The third morning the ice on the decks requires us to hose everything off with the saltwater pump. This reveals a faulty connection in the starboard engine room, and our brand new baby blue Nanni 4.38 diesel gets doused with ocean water. Another thing to add to the list.

During the weekend we unpacked the majority of our stuff. To our surprise, and satisfaction, it all fits fairly well. There is plenty of room left over, and the boat does not sit too much lower in the water. The next week we go sailing a couple of days and test the remaining systems, finding a few omissions and faults, some funny, some dangerous, and some confounding in their obvious nature. A boat is a complicated piece of machinery, and this one is semi-custom, requiring some novel solutions to make all the systems work smoothly together. Even so, it seems as though the final inspection was conducted through half closed eyes, and we feel like beta testers, finding problems that really shouldn’t exist. The boat is not ready to go to sea on any meaningful passage.

On Friday we set off alone, with our friend Alan for company. Our objective is the Glenan Islands, where we want to spend a night or two before returning to Lorient to leave the boat as we head off to Belgium for ten days. We motor out of the harbor, into some decent wind. We had raised the main in the relative protection of the bay, and as we started out into the channel we became over powered and the boat wanted to head up. After a couple frantic minutes, we got the staysail up and depowered the main a bit, achieving a nice balance. We were heading on a broad reach towards our islands, and settled in. It was a short sail, a bit over thirty miles, which took less than three hours. As we came into sight of the islands we saw an Ultime Trimaran flying around on its foils. We didn’t know at the time, but it was about to embark on a Jules Verne around the world record attempt.

We got all the sails down, and motored towards our chosen anchorage. The wind was in the 20 knot range, and there were waves, as it was high tide. This was something that was new to us, having to figure the tidal range into our anchorage planning. This weekend the tidal range was around 12 feet, so we had to be ready for that. We anchored in 5 meters of water, in what felt like the middle of the ocean. There was an island out to starboard, but the wind and waves seemed to be coming straight in off the North Atlantic. We got the anchor down, and dumped all 50 meters of our chain, and sat around for a moment, wondering if this was going to work. We decided we were good, and began shucking oysters and drinking a nice white wine that Alan had brought. We hung out, talking and enjoying the floating motion, before turning in for the night.

The next morning found us sitting in a small bay, as the rocks had risen out of the ocean with the dropping tide. The sea state was much flatter, and the wind had dropped. At sometime during the evening a small boat had come past us and tied up to one of the mooring buoys that we thought were way too close to the rocks. We looked at the weather, thanks to our Starlink connection, and decided to sail to Groix, and see if there was a good anchorage there. We were a bit worried about the forecast, as it was supposed to get stronger, and we thought it was already plenty strong. We motored out of our little bay, and raised the sails. During this operation the wheel stopped working in conjunction with the rudders, and the autopilot lost its connection, leaving us momentarily with no steering. This was fairly exciting, and we quickly grabbed the tillers, thankful that our boat has this somewhat unusual feature. We got the sails trimmed and balanced, and enjoyed a couple fantastic hours of reaching in 15 knot winds. We were flying, and the sea state had moderated, making the ride fast and smooth. The fog was close to the water, making visibility about 50 meters, which required constant attention. Occasionally a fishing boat would poke through the clouds, and at one point some dolphins joined us, but for the most part we were alone in the Brittany (lack of) sunshine.

As we got within a mile or so of Groix, the fog lifted, and we dropped the sails, motoring in close to the island in search of our anchorage. None of them seemed very good, so we motored back in towards Lorient, needing the hours on the engines. We tied up to our pontoon, and enjoyed another dinner with Alan before he left the next morning.

The next day we cleaned up the boat, and put our things away. We were on our way to Belgium, where we would enjoy saunas, chocolate and beer. We also went to London for a night. When we come back to the boat we will be getting ready for our passage across Biscay, to the south, and hopefully warmer waters.

Having Koda floating, and sailing, marks a transition in our lives. We have both dreamed of this for all of our adult lives, knowing that we would sail around the world, but not certain how. Now the certainty is coming together, as all that remains is to physically achieve the dream. That is the easy part.