Biting my tongue to stay awake, peering out into the abyss to scout for other boats. There is nothing to see; nobody goes here.

October 7th, 2014, 2pm

Thirty hours without sleep, fifteen without food. Biting my tongue to stay awake, peering out into the abyss to scout for other boats. There is nothing to see; nobody goes here. Too tired to cook. We’re halfway from Madeira to Gran Canaria, one short leg of a round-the-world trip by sailboat. A few kilometres to the east lies the Portuguese island Selvagem Grande. Two souls live there: one is there to keep people away, the other to look at birds.

As skipper on my own vessel, I’ve got the freedom to roam where I wish: I no longer heed newspaper headlines, the postbox or opening hours. I am on the way to inaccessible islands in the South Pacific, on my way to St. Helena, on my way home – but along the route lies stormy nights and a seasick crew, moments where the scaffolding of civilisation would do me good. Holding on is all I can do – until another wave has passed us, until we reach land.


Christine, Samuel and David Wade said thanks.

Share this moment

Thomas Revå

Create a free account

Have an account? Sign in.

Sign up with Facebook

or