🔴 LIVE - I'm in the Doldrums | Sailing Around the World Without Stopping [Day 20]

Twenty days into his solo nonstop circumnavigation aboard the Pacific Seacraft 40 Phoenix do Mar, Oliver Widger drifts through the equatorial heat of the Pacific Doldrums roughly 700 miles offshore. Broadcasting live from the cockpit on Sailing With Phoenix | Oliver, Widger confronts the challenges of light air, sudden squalls, and cabin temperatures climbing well above 90 degrees. The voyage, which commenced from Port Townsend, Washington, on October 2, 2026, aims to complete a 30,000-mile non-stop circumnavigation around the world without assistance or resupply.

In the heart of the equatorial calms, managing interior temperature aboard Phoenix do Mar presents an immediate physical hurdle. Cooking even a single warm meal elevates the cabin to furnace-like heat, making the interior unlivable for hours afterward. Despite the intense sunlight, running an air conditioning unit remains impossible due to the electrical limitations of an off-grid solar setup. Widger relies on solar panels to generate daily electrical needs for navigation electronics, running lights, and communication systems. The onboard refrigerator acts as the vessel’s single largest power consumer, laboring constantly against the tropical ambient heat. To maintain personal stamina while navigating the stifling conditions, Widger frequently opens the refrigerator—opening it as many as 20 times in a single day—to chill a wet cloth towel that he wears wrapped around his neck.

Surviving weeks in an exposed cockpit requires practical solutions for physical endurance. Widger highlights the value of an onboard marine bean bag, an addition recommended independently by two experienced offshore sailors prior to departure. Both Jerome Ran, who completed a nonstop circumnavigation, and Christy from Kraken Sails urged Widger to carry a heavy-duty bean bag. Although initially skeptical of dedicating deck space to the cushion, Widger credits their unprovoked advice with providing practical body support and relief during long watches in the cockpit.

A Sudden Squall and the 360-Degree Wind Shift

As Widger monitors the sluggish air from the cockpit, a sudden tropical squall approaches across the Pacific water, unleashing a downpour. Rather than viewing the sudden weather disruption as an unwelcome event, Widger welcomes the deluge as an opportunity to give Phoenix do Mar a freshwater bath. Days of ocean sailing coat deck hardware, standing rigging, running lines, and solar arrays in a thick crust of salt, accelerating corrosion and material breakdown. Even heavy-duty equipment like his newly installed Hydrovane self-steering system faces rapid cosmetic and mechanical degradation under offshore conditions.

The rain quickly forces Widger to scramble across the deck to secure open hatches before taking refuge in the cockpit under a cascading sheet of water. The sudden squall wreaks havoc on the localized wind field. Within minutes, the ambient breeze twists through a complete circle, scattering the vessel’s heading and leaving the canvas shaking violently. Widger notes the volatile behavior of tropical squalls: “The squall completely changes the wind directions too.” The localized pressure system drags the wind through a full 360-degree rotation before the driving rain subsides, leaving Phoenix do Mar trapped in an abrupt, absolute calm.

The temporary breeze generated by the leading edge of the squall dissipates as rapidly as it arrived, dropping wind speeds down to a feeble 2 knots. The abrupt shift leaves Widger soaked from head to toe, monitoring sails that have suddenly lost all aerodynamic pressure while rolling heavily across leftover ocean swells.

The Frustration of Light Air and Sail Slap

In the dead air of the Doldrums, a solo mariner faces one of the most frustrating dilemmas in offshore voyaging: deciding whether to keep canvas hoisted in the hope of catching elusive breaths of wind, or dropping the sails entirely to prevent structural damage. When wind speeds drop between 2 and 6 knots, ocean swells continue to toss the 40-foot hull from side to side. Without steady wind pressure to keep the sails filled, the sails back-wind violently with every roll, slamming across the rig with explosive reports.

Widger explains the destructive mechanics of this relentless motion on the yacht’s rig: “No wind will eat through sails and rigging and all that stuff. So, it is just Anyways, long story short, it is this constant battle between do I leave him up or do I take him down?” The violent motion stretches sail cloth, strains batten pockets, chafes halyards, and imposes severe shock loads on standing rigging. Spending hours attempting to coax forward progress in dying breezes often results in nothing more than unnecessary gear wear.

The calm conditions exact an equally grueling psychological toll. Widger maintains his daily routines by keeping his clocks set strictly to Pacific Standard Time, aligning his internal schedule with west coast reference points. Under the intense tropical heat, physical exertion leads to rapid fluid depletion, prompting Widger to consume substantial volumes of water enhanced with Liquid IV hydration packets. Between sail adjustments and routine boat checks, the waiting game demands an uncommon degree of patience from a sailor accustomed to continuous physical work.

Solitary Life, Marine Debris, and Southern Ocean Ambitions

While scanning the calm horizon roughly 700 miles offshore, Widger observes a noticeable accumulation of floating marine debris. Over a span of just 5 days in the equatorial Pacific, he identifies discarded plastic water bottles, floating commercial fishing buoys, and even a waterlogged rain boot drifting past the hull. The volume of floating refuse contrasts sharply with his previous passage from Oregon to Hawaii, during which he encountered only two or three pieces of debris across open ocean.

Despite the isolation of the open sea, Widger remains focused on the broader trajectory of his 30,000-mile voyage. Ahead lies the formidable challenge of rounding Cape Horn and traversing the Southern Ocean. Widger deliberately planned his departure to ensure an arrival in the higher southern latitudes during the austral summer, a strategy calculated to minimize the risk of encounters with drifting icebergs. Unlike coastal cruising vessels, Phoenix do Mar will bypass the Panama Canal completely, navigating south through the full length of the Pacific Ocean to round Cape Horn into Drake Passage.

Maintaining mental clarity and physical resilience over an estimated voyage of 8 to 9 months requires strict attention to rest. Widger firmly rejects the rigid 30-minute polyphasic sleep schedules adopted by many solo racing sailors, warning that artificial sleep restriction poses fatal risks offshore. “The biggest danger to solo sailors is sleep deprivation. That is how people die,” Widger emphasizes. Instead of forced short catnaps, he allows his body to rest for extended periods whenever conditions permit, having logged sleep sessions as long as 12 hours when the vessel is trimmed and settled in steady conditions. His intuitive awareness remains attuned to the motions of the boat, waking automatically if the vessel becomes overpowered or wanders off course. As Widger reflects on the strategic mindset demanded by solo voyaging, he observes: “I have to think very far ahead because this is an endurance thing.”

Rigging Architecture, Daily Checks, and Technical Discipline

Managing a 40-foot cutter offshore requires an intimate understanding of sail balance and heavy weather safety. Phoenix do Mar relies on three primary sails: a mainsail hoisted on the spar, a forward staysail mounted on the inner forestay, and a large genoa set at the headstay. When tropical calms give way to sudden squalls or building trade winds, reefing the mainsail becomes essential to depower the rig, maintain balanced helm control, and prevent the vessel from becoming overpowered.

To maintain safe passage, Widger inspects weather forecasts roughly 7 times a day, tracking evolving low-pressure systems and storm developments across the Pacific basin. Although anticipating potential 30-foot to 50-foot seas in the Southern Ocean, he approaches heavy weather with deliberate preparation rather than fear, maintaining confidence in the sea-keeping design of his Pacific Seacraft 40. Technical self-sufficiency extends to critical mechanical spares; having overhauled nearly every component of the vessel’s diesel auxiliary before departure, Widger carried a dedicated replacement starter motor to ensure redundancy in remote waters.

As the sun sets and evening brings cooler temperatures to the cockpit, Widger reflects on the raw simplicity of solo voyaging: “Keep the boat sailing, you know, keep the boat sailing and that’s it.” The broadcast draws to a close as the camera battery level drops to 5 percent and then 1 percent under the sweltering heat, prompting Widger to sign off from the cockpit and return his full attention to trimming his sails through the night.

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