Zero Dark Thirty- not the movie
Ships’ Log- Supplemental · SV Patience · May 16, 2026
Sun Bay, Vieques, Puerto Rico.
Zero Dark Thirty - Sun Bay
It's the middle of the night and the dingy- Little Patience is banging against the rear sugar scoops. That sound — that persistent, thud, thud , thud. Along with the drumming against the side of the ship. It’s an irritating sound, a ceaseless, constant and continuous sensory overload . This is the reason I'm up. I came topside, to stowed it, lowered the lift. Step to the to the left to cleat it. So I don’t lose her and I don’t fall in the water or throw my back out. Finally Problem solved. And now I'm awake, so here we are.
This one's going to be a little different. Less about where we are and more about why we're here — because I know there are friends and family back home . Who hear about this life and think. Man, I always wanted to do that. And I want you to know: it's probably not what you think. It's better in some ways, harder in others, and almost nothing like the highlight reel.
Right now it's quiet. We're anchored in Sun Bay — Vieques if you know it, the locals call the nearest town LA Esperanza — on the southeast side of Vieques, Puerto Rico. There are wild horses on this island, about thirty thousand of them. They wander the beaches at dusk like they own the place, because they do.
There is a calmness out here I've only found one other time — as a kid, alone in the woods, building forts, learning the land. Being with oneself and your partner.
Tomorrow we head to Culebra, an island to the south. More swell, more tricky passes than we're used to, but it'll be good for us. The toilet part finally came in — exciting news on a boat, believe me. And the bilge alarm is constantly going off every few minutes. I've sent another message to the Fountaine Pajot. I'm sure they're sick of me by now. -First world problems, right? Anyway, We have Patience, and she sails well.
Out here
There is a calmness out here I have found only — as a kid running around the woods by myself, building forts, trying to be some kind of stealth ranger. Not the US Army Kind. More the Lord of the Rings or D&D type. Still, either would be exciting. Anyway I loved being out on patrol, or scouting alone, learning the terrain, mapping everything, figuring out how to move people through a space safely.
I like it out here, more than I ever liked the daily grind. Some people are built for consistency — dinner at the table, family routine, a life that fits many. Knowing your neighborhood. Nothing wrong with that at all. — and I have had that Life. I valued it. Still, it's just never been who I am. I feel most comfortable exploring. Knowing that tomorrow we'll sail early toward the next horizon. I mean: I'm sitting on the back of a catamaran eating jellybeans and drinking a pineapple Fanta. How bad can life be?
The people you meet
I like people. I'm not antisocial. I don't drink anymore, and that changes how socializing works at anchor. You meet some sailors and within five minutes you know: this is my crew. You meet others and it's a perfectly fine evening you don't need to repeat.
We've met good people in Thailand, Bali, France. Mindelo, Spain & The USVI’s. We've met plenty of people who just don't resonate the way you need sailing partner(s) too. Like the Song goes, Your family’s your crew. You’ve got to trust someone with your vessel and your life.
The goal — as we make our way south to Grenada, as we cut our teeth on different ways sailing, brush up on our Spanish, get fitter, learn the bones of this boat — is to find our people. Sober couples, highly light social drinkers who aren't obnoxious about it, folks who treat each other well and work well with others. Out here that matters more than almost anything else. We'll have more details later on what we're looking for and the legs of the journey needed. Still come October I'm sure we'll be flying this flag at ort and scouring the crew forums..
Espirit de corps
Being in the Cavalry was different from the Medic. In the scouts, danger wasn't a second thought — it was just the way of living. You knew every weapon system, every small unit tactic, every entry and exit route. The bond you built was a function of that. I used to say: it's not that you'd die for each other. It's that you'd kill for each other. Right or wrong — that was the nature of the beast. Medic’s, well medics on a whole are a little more cautious.
Sailing is like that in some ways and nothing like it in others. You meet some sailors and you bond instantly — you'd go out on the line for them. Others are fine people, you just don't want to share six feet of cockpit with at two in the morning. Speaking of which — come November, if you're looking for a sailing vessel with a couple of hobbit-- like sober people. Who explore too much and sometimes change course just to see if there's a path over there, hit us up. I do like to poke at the edges of a map. Not dangerously. I'm not riding out hurricanes. But working your way along the side of a coast that isn't on the easy list? There's always a path. Over, under, around. There's always a path.
The real stuff — out here at night
I should be sleeping. Yet, I want to try to put into words what it's actually like to sit on your boat at zero dark thirty. Looking at the stars. Finding the Southern Cross. Spotting the Big Dipper. Watching the lights of the city on the hills and the few boats moving silently through the bay. I can't quite get it right: it's the feeling of knowing you could leave. Right now. You could sail out of here. You're not stranded. You're not stuck. You have a vessel and a chart and a heading and the whole ocean is a possibility.
(Side note: I also need to fill the fuel tank. We're down to half. Ahh the Little things.)
That's what this life is — the little things, together, keeping it from ever becoming mundane. Sometimes you're knee-deep in a bilge that smells like regret. Sometimes you're looking at rocks you absolutely cannot hit. Sometimes you're out on open water wondering if you plotted that correctly? We've seen France, Spain, Portugal, Cabo Verde, St. Thomas, Vieques, Puerto Rico, the USVI,’s the BVI’s. We’re just warming up………
What's coming
I'll be redoing the website. Working on some projects and apps. Getting new pictures up. Getting the media moving — interviews, questions, the things people actually want to know about this life. I've been thinking about a series of questions — borrowed loosely from the best interviewers I know, but made for sailors:
Questions I want to ask every sailor I meet
What's one thing you wish every new sailor knew?
What's one book you'd give to someone just starting out?
What skill should every sailor be actively working on?
Where shouldn't sailors go? (And why did you go there anyway?)
What do you hope to find out here?
I like those. I'll think on them. Good night. I hope you find whatever you're looking for. And if you're already living the life you want — enjoy it with everything you have.
Tony ~ S/V Patience · Sun Bay, Vieques, Puerto Rico · 16 May 2026
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."
— Robert Heinlein · May 8, 1988 · Died peacefully during an afternoon nap.
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