Dear Friends,

September 17

I'm finally out of the sight of land, but I still feel its pull rather acutely. If the truth be known I am a little home sick. Lucky for me, home is on the opposite side of the ocean. I rowed a solid 12 hours today. A cloudy sky combined with the strong sun made the water shine silver like rolling mercury.

September 18

There is no wind today. I have my first injury to report, apart from the blisters that are so inevitable as to hardly merit mention. I gashed open my little toe. You see, this is what happens when Tori Murden goes barefoot. It is well known that I am a woman of hard eyes and tender feet. My mother thinks this a serious failing (the tender feet, not the hard eyes). She believes that anyone raised South of the Mason-Dixon line should relish running barefoot across the gravel. To think that she could raise a child with such tender feet would be as if to admit that I suffered from some unmentionable social disease. Apart from my bleeding all over the boat there is no cause for alarm. No stitches required. No anesthetic dressing needed. "Though it be a ghastly wound to the very heart of my being," I think I'll live.

I saw my first Petrel today. These are my favorite birds. Small and darting, they are the size of sparrows. They are black with a white patch on their tails. I am told they never land except to lay their eggs. I rescued one from the cockpit of my boat last summer. I'm not sure who was more frightened, the bird in my cockpit or the rower wanting to rescue it without injury. Eventually, I was able to use an oar to scoop up the bird and lift it to the safety of the air.

September 19

I must begin with a short discourse on dreams. Dreams at sea for me are quite vivid. My first night out I had a dream about the last evening I'd spent aboard the American Pearl, the night before I was picked up by the Independent Spirit. It was this dream as much as anything else that led me to put out the unnecessary sea anchor. The dream was not a nightmare, but it did make me consider the need to be ever vigilant and always careful.

My dream of last night was nothing of this sort. I was leading a white-water kayaking trip in South America for a group of highschool students from the United Nations. One of the teenage boys on the trip liked to demonstrate his strength by turning over large slabs of rock. One afternoon he turned over a rock and exposed an intricately carved marble doorway. One thing led to another and the next thing you know the young people and I are in an immense abandoned South American palace. Like all great conquerors, the first question to be decided was who should take ownership. After much debate, I convinced the young people that the palace must be placed in trust for its preservation and given to whatever nation we were in. (Obviously, my keen legal mind slept through this part of the dream.) No sooner did we have this decided then a woman named Jennifer appeared. She told us that the palace was built by several thousand slaves and that we were trespassing and that we would be shot. The next thing I know, I'm rowing a boat across the Atlantic to get away from murderous thugs. However, they have broken into the codes for the Argos Adventure Unit and this is why people in four different countries are sending me messages to "leave it on -- we're still testing it." It's a conspiracy and the bad guys are going to track me down.

Well, it is Sunday and the day I am supposed to test the Argos Adventure Unit. I left it switched on all day despite the fact that it has been on several days this week. As requested, I removed the antenna and reseated it. This unit has a dial with 15 settings on it that I may use to send out coded messages should all my other forms of communication go out. So far, it's not been working very well.

I am settling into life on board. It is amazing how quickly the mind seems to adapt to a change of circumstances. Were my life in civilization reduced to this boat and the items I have aboard her, I'd think myself horribly destitute. (I haven't any shoes for pity sake.) But, here and now I think myself quite fortunate. I have a sturdy boat, plenty of food, several sets of good oars and a large ocean ahead of me. What could be better? I am the captain of my ship, governor of this little island without a mooring. I rule all I survey. Who can dispute me? My dear friend Mac's not here to give me any argument.

I find there is a part of me on the ocean that never left. Perhaps this is the "unfinished" part that brought me back. Perhaps it is my Kentucky heritage and the need to "get back up on the horse" after taking a tumble. While I am a bit lonesome I am not at all sorry that I've returned. There is a great sense of ease within me and deep appreciation of life's simplicity.

The wind is still very light. It is beginning to shift to south-southeast. This may herald a change of weather. The sun promises to be my nemesis this crossing. It is brutal. I rowed only eleven hours today. I've kept Gerard's tradition of saving Sunday mornings for a bath and for fixing things. I had a bath this morning and tightened the bolts in my seat.

September 20

The wind blew SSE all day. I found it impossible to make any westward progress. The seas became rather difficult to row in and at 5:00 PM it began to rain. I retired to the cabin to check my e-mail but whether due to the jumping seas, or my new glasses, I could not read the mail without my stomach fomenting rebellion. After the little storm front passed, the wind shifted to the west and I was able to row for several hours during the night. I am trying to be good about keeping up my 12 hours a day.

September 21

I rose just before dawn and was hard pressed to get everything done in time to be at the oars before the sun peaked over the horizon. I barely made it. The punishment for missing this deadline is no Sweet-Tarts, M&M's or cashews for the day. I rowed until 12:50 and then retrieved the Iridium telephone for my Tuesday conference with Christophe. I very much like the Iridium telephone. It requires relatively little power and unlike the Mini-M, I can use it outside while on deck. This is a great luxury. The conversation was good. Christophe always manages to lift my spirits. I rowed very well in the afternoon and broke at 5:00 PM to check my e-mail. I think this may be my custom. I cook dinner at the same time which makes good use of my minutes away from the oars.

Reading my mail for the first time I see that many people would like to schedule interviews with me. Perhaps I can take a few questions from school children each week by e-mail. Two or three a week at most, until I have a better routine. I'd like to focus on young people -- they ask such interesting questions. No 6 year old has ever asked me my least favorite question of all: "Why?" Young people seem more able to fathom the feeling of rowing with the wind. They understand my excitement at hearing whales spout and watching dolphins during my dinner. (They are here this evening in force.) They can empathize with my thirst for freedom and the profound joy of holding the kitestring of a dream firmly in hand. I'd like to hold off a while longer on media calls or e-mails.

Well, dinner is ready and the oars are waiting.

September 22

Rose well in time to avoid the "no cashews" penalty. I was at the oars ½ an hour before the sun came up. The morning was cloudy which was a great relief as there is no wind at all and if the sun had been out, I'd be roasting. The sun broke through the clouds at 11:00 AM. It is now just past 12:30 PM and I have made what may be a very dangerous discovery. My cabin is cool. With the sun on deck is well over 120 degrees, but my cabin is a cool 80 degrees. This is with my hatches CLOSED! The roof of my cabin is sheathed in reflective foil. It is working well to reflect the sun's heat.

Why this is a dangerous discovery is that to progress toward home, I must row and the oars are on deck. I chose not to bring a sun canopy for fear of being accused of using it as a sail. I had a small umbrella, but it broke after only a few minutes use. I was almost glad of this, it may not technically be a canopy, but it is not far from it.

This seems to me the great temptation of ocean rowing. Say you have a canopy to stay out of the sun. You have a tail wind. What harm is there in raising the rear part of the canopy to catch a breeze and bring it onto the deck? The instant this happens, one's canopy goes from being a shade to a sail. I am a determined person and on a day like today, I very much wish I had a canopy to protect me from the sun. However, as much as I want to get this boat home to the other side of the ocean, I'm not sure I'd have the conviction never to raise the tail for a little breeze. When I am older and more withered, I may regret the extra wrinkles this conviction might bring. In the meantime, I will slather on the sunscreen and I will sleep soundly.

Back to the oars.

As ever, Tori