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The Graveyard of the Pacific ▲ The Aborted Final Voyage
"The world is vast, and I want to see it." Yet, societal responsibilities demand that I hold a job to survive, which inevitably means I can’t wander far or for long. Moreover, to the external world—unchanged for thousands, millions, even billions of years—whether I see it or not makes no difference. So, whether I travel or not, whether I explore the outside world, is nothing more than the self-indulgence of an insignificant human, a fleeting sense of self-satisfaction.
Once I understood this, why should I insist on outward journeys? Why not turn inward, seeking through dialogue with my own soul to perceive and experience the boundless universe? Like "inferring the whole leopard from a single spot" or "seeing autumn in a single leaf," perhaps I can grasp the vast world through the microcosm within.
To truly know and discover oneself, one effective method is moderate adventure in nature. Through risk, we confront our instincts, see ourselves clearly, and converse with nature—listening to her breath, feeling her pulse, merging with her. The depth and breadth of such an experience far surpass the simplistic notion of "the world is big, I want to see it."
There’s an even deeper layer: using endless exhaustion and unpredictable danger to cleanse the soul, much like ascetics who purify themselves through suffering. Thus, after completing the unpowered kayak race from Washington to Alaska (R2AK) in 2024, I decided that in 2025, I would embark on another unpowered kayak journey—from Neah Bay, the northwestern tip of Washington, all the way to San Francisco, California—an 800-mile voyage.
If last year’s R2AK was mostly about joining the excitement, proving myself, and chasing glory, this year’s journey is purely a solitary endeavor. Eight hundred miles of open sea—unnoticed, uncared for, with no one to rely on, life and death entirely in my own hands—the epitome of loneliness.
I remember reading a comic about the Apollo moon landing fifty years ago. When two astronauts descended to the surface while the third orbited alone in the command module, a line etched itself into my memory, unforgettable even after half a century: "He was the loneliest man in the world."
A shiver ran through me, like a sudden Buddhist enlightenment, awakening something deep within. Imagining that astronaut drifting alone in the vast cosmos, I felt both longing and reverence, touched by a solemn, almost sacred emotion.
From Neah Bay to San Francisco, a lone kayak traversing the sea—this journey carries a similar sense of human solitude and grandeur. For this perilous and lonely voyage, I prepared for an entire year, packing countless supplies: multiple compasses, a DJI drone, an Insta360 panoramic camera, ample water and food, a solar panel with batteries, over a dozen spare batteries, three phones, dozens of charging cables, two VHF radios, a satellite emergency beacon (InReach), a PLB (Personal Locator Beacon), and countless other miscellaneous items. Better to overpack than to find myself missing something critical at sea. Before departure, I also left a will in my office desk drawer—just in case.
The name "Graveyard of the Pacific" is no exaggeration. Weather forecasts here are vague; conditions in small areas can shift unpredictably—calm one moment, a tempest the next. A sailor friend once told me how, in just five minutes, winds surged from 5 mph to over 50 mph, shredding her mainsail before she could reef it. Beyond gales, there are rogue waves, whales, great white sharks, and the icy currents from the Arctic.
Along this 800-mile coastline lie nearly 10,000 shipwrecks. Some stretches are especially treacherous—like the mouth of the Pacific at Neah Bay (2,000 wrecks) and the Columbia River mouth (3,000 wrecks). The shoreline alternates between sheer cliffs and violent surf, offering few safe landing spots for a kayak. My plan was to eat and sleep aboard, never stopping, averaging 50 miles a day to complete the journey in 16 days.
Nature demands reverence, especially in this deadly stretch. Arriving at Neah Bay at midnight, I assembled my kayak and, following Chinese tradition, lit incense and candles, burned paper offerings, and poured liquor onto the ground in three ceremonial libations, praying for a safe journey. But in the dark, I grabbed the wrong bottle—pouring oil instead of liquor.
After the rituals, I slept in my car for two hours, only to wake at dawn shivering uncontrollably. Returning to the dock, I found my kayak dangling mid-air at low tide. Though it seemed unharmed, the sight unsettled me—an ill omen.
Lowering the kayak, I set off slowly, paddling through the Juan de Fuca Strait toward the open Pacific before turning south toward my distant goal.
The day was thick with fog—calm but windless, forcing me to rely on sheer paddling strength. Without landmarks, navigation was a struggle, requiring constant checks of the compass. Safety came first, so I endured.
In the stillness, I launched the drone to capture the scene: a lone kayak adrift in a white, silent void—a hauntingly beautiful image. But the drone malfunctioned, plunging into the sea before I could recover it.
By afternoon, a breeze picked up, speeding my progress. By dusk, I’d covered 30+ miles. Though short of my 50-mile target, I trusted night paddling would close the gap. Confident, I cooked dinner and layered up against the biting cold.
Nightfall brought thicker fog—utter darkness. Wind and waves rose and fell unpredictably. The "whoosh" of breaching whales and the metallic "clang" of my kayak’s AKA joints kept me on edge. Then—impact.
In the blackness, my kayak’s outrigger (AMA) struck something solid—likely a whale’s back. A soft "thud", and the AMA swung violently toward the hull. Had I not reinforced it earlier, the kayak would have capsized.
Instinct took over. I released the sail’s black line, yanked the red retrieval rope, and furled the sail in seconds—a lifesaving reflex. By headlamp, I found a broken plastic pin securing the AKA. I had spares, but replacing it in pitching waves was a nightmare. The first replacement slipped from my grip; the second snapped during installation. Though barely functional now, it could fail anytime.
Stunned, I realized I’d botched it. Could I continue? Maybe—by jury-rigging the pin with a screwdriver and tape. But another collision might damage the kayak itself. Reluctantly, I chose to abort. A heartbreaking decision, but better than regret—or a Coast Guard rescue.
Other omens weighed on me: the oil-for-liquor mistake, the unexplained chills, the dangling kayak, the lost drone, the whale strike, the broken pins—all in one day. The universe seemed to scream: "Turn back."
Timing was another factor. This sea grants only narrow safe windows. Too fast or slow, and I’d face storms. With compromised gear, pushing on risked disaster. Respecting nature’s power, I yielded. Perhaps these signs did save my life.
This retreat may haunt me forever. Aging means I’ll likely never attempt this again. But then—what’s life without regrets?
With my choice made, I navigated to the nearest port—an obscure dock six miles away. After a grueling paddle, I landed in darkness. Total distance: 45 miles—just 1/18th of the planned journey.
A friend drove 18 hours from the Bay Area to retrieve me. Over four days, they logged 4,000 miles and 72 hours behind the wheel. Without them, I’d still be stranded at that desolate pier.
======太平洋墳場▲腰折的最後航行 ========
“世界很大，我想去看看”，然社會責任要我有份工作以求生存，這注定我走不久，也走不遠。而且對外部世界來說，幾千幾萬甚至幾億年來，它一直在那，我去看還是不去看，對它又有何意義呢。所以，走不走，去不去看外麵的世界，完全是渺小人類的自我享受，自我良好感覺而已。
想清這點，那麽我為何非得要遠行，而不向內探索，向內尋求，通過同自己心靈的對話，來認識，來感受外部無窮無盡的世界呢? 如同一斑窺豹 ，一葉知秋，通過我內心的小世界來感知外麵的大世界呢。
要真正認識自己，發現自己，向內挖掘的一個有效方法，就是在自然界裏適度的冒險。通過冒險，直麵本性，看清自己，同時也同大自然對話，傾聽她的呼吸，感覺她的脈搏，並與她融為一體。這樣一個行為的深度與廣度，同單純的“世界很大，我想去看看”，有過之而無不及。
還有更深一層，就是用無盡的疲勞與不可預測的危險，來洗滌自己的靈魂，就像苦行僧，用痛苦來清洗靈魂一樣。於是，於去年，2024年，在完成無動力Kayak從華盛頓州到阿拉斯斯加的比賽後(R2AK)，我決定，在今年的2025年，再用無動力Kayak從華成盛頓州的頂點Neah Bay出發，一直到加州的舊金山，全程八百英裏。
如果說去年參加 R2AK 的大部分原因是為了趕熱鬧，為了證明自己，也為了榮譽，那麽今年的這個行程，完全是個孤獨者的旅行。八百英裏海路，無人注意，無人關心，無人可依靠，生死全憑自己，極致的孤獨。記得五十年前看阿波羅登月飛船的連環畫，當看到兩宇航員下去月球，一宇航員駕飛船環行月球等他們回來時，書中有句話刻印進了我的記憶裏，穿越半個世紀，一直忘不掉，這句話就是：他是世界上最孤獨的人了。
當時渾身一顫，如同佛的頓悟，喚醒了心靈的某一處，想像著當時那宇航員一人在茫茫宇宙中孤獨飛行的情景，我既憧憬又向往，此外，還被一絲絲的崇高與壯嚴所感動。
從華成盛頓州的頂點 Neah Bay 到加州的舊金山，孤舟獨行，多多少少也有生而為人的那種崇高與孤獨的滄涼感。為了這個危險又孤獨的航行，我準備了整整一年，備的東西無數，如：幾個指南鍾，一架大疆無人機，一個Insta-360全景攝像機，足夠的水，食物，一個太陽能板和充電池，十幾塊備用電池，三個手機，幾十條手機充電線，二個VHF，一個衛星求救InReach，一個衛星求救PLB，還有其它零零碎碎的東西數不勝數。寧願多帶點，也不要在海上發現要用的東西沒帶。走之前，也在公司辦公桌的抽屜裏，留了封遺書，以防萬一。
稱之為太平洋墳場，是有原因的，這兒的天氣預報隻能預測個大概，具體細小區域的天氣不可預測，說變就變，剛剛還風和日麗，幾分鍾後就狂風呼嘯，烏雲密布。聽我一航海的朋友提起，有天她駕大帆船南下，就五分鍾，風速從五英裏每小時突然飆到五十多英裏每小時，主帆來不及收起，被撕成幾片。除了狂風，還有毫無症兆的瘋狗巨浪，鯨魚，大白鯊，從北冰洋極流過來的冰水。。。。。。
所以，在這條八百英裏的海岸線上，有近萬條沉船。有幾段最凶險，如我行程開始的Neah Bay進太平洋的入海口，有二千條沉船，在哥倫比亞河口，有三千條沉船。
沿途上的海岸線，不是懸崖絕壁，就是海浪洶湧的沙灘，很難找到 Kayak 停靠點，所以我準備一路吃睡在Kayak上，不靠岸一直南下，平均一天五十英裏，用十六天時間完成全程。
對大自然得有敬畏之心，對這片特殊的區域更要有敬畏之心。所以，在半夜到達Neah Bay並組裝好Kayak後，以華人的傳統，點上香與燭，燒點紙錢，然後拿出酒，灑向地麵，酒過三巡，再拜拜，祝自已一路順利。酒瓶與油瓶外表一樣，顏色也一樣，拿錯了，最後灑向地麵的是油而不是酒。
拜完天地諸神，回去車內睡了兩小時，當天亮時被一陣陣無法抑製的冷顫驚醒，回到碼頭時，發現因退潮，Kayak 被吊在了半空中。幸虧外表看起來沒有什麽損傷，但心裏咯噔了一下，這不是個好兆頭。
放下 Kayak，慢慢地離開碼頭，順著 Juan De Fuca 海峽向太平洋深處而去，在離岸幾英裏時掉頭南下，朝八百英裏外的目的地駛去也不用多說。
當天是濃霧天氣，這樣的天氣好處是風不大，安全，壞處是風小，不能用帆借風行駛，主要得憑人力驅動 Kayak，非常辛苦，另一壞處是被濃霧包圍，沒有參照物，分不清東南西北，極易迷失方向，要麽走了反方向，要麽在原地打轉，得幾秒鍾就轉頭瞄一眼旁邊的指南針，非常地費脖子。但安全勝過一切，也就忍了。
無風時，正好用無人機來錄當時的情景。一條孤舟靜靜地漂在白霧茫茫的寂靜的大海上，光想像一下，就美得令人瘋狂。但是，放出去的無人機飛不回來，最後掉落海麵，趕過去時早不見蹤影。
下午慚慚起風，借助風力，航行快了許多，到了傍晚，已經航行三十多英裏了，雖然離每天五十英裏的目標還有段距離，但晚上還長著呢，半夜時到達五十英裏應該是不成問題的。這麽一想，就放下心來，生火煮晚飯，再在防水服下添幾件禦寒的衣服。這兒的夜晚是徹骨的寒冷。
入夜，霧還很濃，伸手不見五指，眼前漆黑一片。風時大時小，白頭海浪嘩嘩地打過來，時急時慢。周圍傳來鯨魚陣陣的“噗噗”噴水聲，外加 Kayak 的 AKA 同主體連接處發出來的“哐檔哐檔”金屬碰撞聲，實在搞得人有些提心吊膽，怕“哐檔”一聲過後什麽東西斷了。
擔心什麽就來什麽，隻覺在黑暗中Kayak的AMA實實在在地碰到一個黑乎乎的東西，應該是鯨魚背，然後聽到輕輕的"樸"的一聲，沒等我反應過來，那個黑乎乎的東西已沉入水下，被碰的 AMA 已折過來往Kayak主體靠，如果不是事先安裝的加固裝備，這 AMA 已完全折過來，我的 Kayak 就翻了。
說時遲那時快，我快速地鬆開張帆的黑繩子，再一把抓住收帆的紅繩子，拚命地拉，把帆以最快的速度收起來。這下意識的救命動作，不用腦袋去思考，全憑肌肉記憶，一氣嗬成。然後打開頭燈去檢查發生了什麽，隻見一個固定 AKA 的塑料插銷斷了。這個插銷有備用的，左右 AKA 各備有一個，馬上拿一個下來，在上下左右搖晃的Kayak上，一個沒對準，掉了，再去拿另一個下來，這次小心翼地裝上去，在風浪中實在不好控製力道，需要擰緊時，一個浪打過來，把最後這個弄斷了。雖然勉強能用，但隨時可掉出來。
我呆住了，就這麽一瞬間的事，我把事情搞砸了，怎麽辦？如果硬要堅持下去，也不是沒辦法，那就是用螺絲刀插入那銷孔，然後再用膠帶捆住，這樣也能行，隻是如果再發生這種碰撞的事，傷的不會是這插銷，而會是 Kayak 主體，這就麻煩了。思來想去，我決定放棄這行程。這是個痛心又艱難的決定，但總比發生意外了後悔強，總比被海洋衛隊從水裏撈起來強。
決定放棄這行程的另一個原因，是這一天來，有諸多不順，先是拿錯瓶子，以油代酒敬天地，後來在車裏睡覺時被一陣陣停不下來的莫名其妙的冷顫驚醒，Kayak又被吊在半空中，無人機墜毀，後被鯨魚撞，最後銷子不是斷就是掉失，這一切發生在同一天，疊加在一起，都不是好兆頭，似乎都向我發出強烈訊號：不要往前走了。
還有其它一個原因是，我每天都有嚴格的行程安排，太快太慢都會碰上狂風，這片海域可讓我順利通過的時間窗口非常狹窄，裝備的隱患或多或少會影響我的速度，與其在狂風中掙紮，與其在這太平洋墳場裏多個墳頭，不如事先退出。得敬畏自然，人很強大，也很脆弱。也許這種種的提示，真救了我一命也未可知。
退出，這也許是我此生無法彌補的遺憾，隨著時間的流逝，身體逐漸衰弱，我也許再沒有機會來一次這樣的旅行了，然而，沒有遺憾的人生，叫啥人生啊！
決定已下，剩下的就是執行。在 GPS上找最近的港口，巧好有個不知名的小港口才六英裏遠，於是慢慢地行駛過去，經一番掙紮，摸黑進港上岸，在此無需多提。今天總共行駛了四十五英裏，是計劃中的總行程的十八分之一。
再次請朋友幫忙，從灣區開十八小時的車過來接我回家，四天裏我這朋友來回開了兩趟，總行程四千英裏，開車72小時。如果沒有我朋友的幫忙，我應該還困在那個偏僻的碼頭，不知如何是好。
The 800-Mile Journey Map
Each dot marks a daily checkpoint. This schedule must be followed strictly—neither faster nor slower—or else I’d face raging storms and monstrous waves, with unpredictable consequences.
八百英裏的行程圖。每一個點表示每天要到達的地方。要嚴格地執行這行程計劃，不能快也不能慢，否則會碰到狂風，要在巨浪中掙紮，後果難料。
This area is the infamous Graveyard of the Pacific, where nearly 10,000 ships lie wrecked beneath the waves or scattered along the shore.
這片區域是惡名遠揚的太平洋墳場，近萬的船沉在水底下，倒在岸邊。
At the mouth of the Columbia River alone, almost 3,000 ships have sunk, claiming countless lives.
光是哥倫比亞河的入海口處，就沉了近三千條船，死傷無數。
Some enthusiasts have even made documentaries about this maritime graveyard.
有好事者，做了個介紹太平洋墳場的視頻。
These few lines about the Pacific coastline filled me with boundless determination and strength.
太平洋邊這短短的幾句，給了我無盡的信念與力量。
With a friend, I drove 1,000 miles from Silicon Valley, California, arriving at Neah Bay, Washington, in the dead of night. After I launched, my friend turned back and drove home.
同朋友一起，驅車一千英裏，從加州的矽穀，於半夜時分，來到華盛頓州的 Neah bay。待我下水後，朋友再開車回去
Ready to go.
The fishing rod at the kayak’s stern is mostly for show. Most seafarers have little interest in fishing. My own belief: we are all passing guests of the ocean, and we should respect one another. Unless absolutely necessary, why kill? Another reason: avoiding harm brings good fortune, ensuring a safer journey.
安裝完畢。
Kayak 尾部插著的是釣魚杆，然而，這基本上隻是裝裝樣子。海上航行的人，是不大有興趣釣魚的。我自己的體會是，大家都是海洋中的過客，都相互尊重，非不得已，何必要殘殺。另一個原因是，不殺生，會帶來好運的，會在海中安穩地渡過。
Kayak left hanging mid-air at low tide.
因退潮，吊在半空中的 Kayak
Launching into the water.
下水
Leaving Neah Bay behind.
駛離 Neah Bay
Calm seas.
平靜的海麵
The sail catches the wind.
風帆
By afternoon, the wind picks up.
下午，風漸起
Lost the drone—no aerial shots, but the Insta360 still captures a decent panorama.
無人機丟了，沒有全景圖，用 Insta360 來個全景圖也不錯
This must be a sunfish (Mola mola).
這應該是翻車魚
With the flashlight on, the night ocean reveals nothing but darkness.
閃光燈下，夜晚的海洋，什麽也看不清
Sticking to the planned route is crucial—too early or too late, and the storms will strike.
After the midnight accident at sea, the schedule was inevitably disrupted, so I decided to abandon the original plan and head ashore early.
要嚴格地按照事先規劃好的行程走，太早太晚，都會碰上狂風。因半夜在海上出了事故，多多少少會影響到行程，所以決定放棄原先計劃，提早上岸
The dock at low tide the next morning.
第二天早晨，退潮時碼頭的樣子
Real-time tracking of Day 1’s route.
第一天的實時路線圖
This is where I struggled ashore in the dark—the harbor tucked at the mountain’s base (right).
It took every ounce of effort just to make it in.
這就是前一個晚上摸黑進港上岸的地方，港口在右邊的山腳處。當時費的九牛二虎之力才進的港
Sleeping in the kayak, waiting for my friend to drive over and take me home.
睡在 kayak 上，等朋友開車過來載我回家
The harbor at dusk, bathed in twilight.
晚霞裏的海港
By noon the next day, my friend arrived to bring me home.
第二天中午，朋友過來接我回家
Goodbye, beautiful nameless harbor.
In the limited river of my time, I will always remember you.
再見了，這個美麗的無名小港，在我有限的時間長河裏，我會一直記得你
《As Long as There's You》
《隻要有你》
