Jotting down what's making you anxious could help calm racing thoughts at night.

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It's like clockwork: Every night, your head hits the pillow, and your brain starts spinning. Whether you're wide awake worrying about work, finances, family or something else, this bedtime ruminating routine can ruin your sleep.

And you're not alone. A whopping 45 percent of Americans report that stewing in stress sabotages their shut-eye, according to the 2017 Stress in America survey by the American Psychological Association.

We spoke with Jodie Skillicorn, DO, a holistic psychiatrist and author of Healing Depression Without Medication: A Psychiatrist's Guide to Balancing Mind, Body, and Soul, to learn why anxious thoughts amplify at night and how we can combat them for sounder sleep.

What Causes Racing Thoughts at Night?

"Anxious, racing thoughts appear at night because it is often the only time during the day that we are not busy or distracting ourselves," Dr. Skillicorn says.

In other words, the silence and stillness of bedtime can bring all your worries, fears and concerns about the past and future to the forefront of your mind.

"All the emotions we left unacknowledged and unaddressed during the day can no longer be pushed below the surface," she says.

How to Stop Your Mind From Racing at Bedtime

Creating relaxing rituals is the key to beating back bedtime anxiety. Experiment with these strategies recommended by Dr. Skillicorn to quiet anxious thoughts before bed.

1. Schedule a Check-In During the Day

Sometimes our brains spin at night because we haven't addressed our daytime anxiety.

"Taking time during the day to pause and mindfully check in with our thoughts, body and emotions allows us to clear space so it does not accumulate and bombard us at night," Dr. Skillicorn says.

2. Give Yourself Time to Unwind

Create a relaxing bedtime routine to tame anxious thoughts.

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"The nervous system needs cues to let the body know it is time for sleep," Dr. Skillicorn says. "If we go from working on a project or watching some adrenaline-pumping show (like the nightly news) to jumping into bed, we can't really expect the body to just tune out the day's stressors and relax."

Before you can drift off to dreamland, your body needs downtime to decompress. Dr. Skillicorn recommends turning off your electronic devices and setting aside at least 30 minutes for relaxing activities before bed (think: meditation, reading or a warm bath or shower).

3. Keep a Notebook Beside Your Bed

Write down your anxious thoughts so you can release them.

"I know that if there is something I need to remember, my brain will go over that list again and again so that I do not forget it, but if I just quickly jot it down, my brain can relax," Dr. Skillicorn says.

4. Start a Gratitude Journal

"Focusing on those things we appreciate about the day shifts our focus away from worries and concerns and drops us into our heart instead of our head," Dr. Skillicorn says.

As a matter of fact, people who practiced gratitude writing demonstrated better scores on mental health compared with those who simply wrote about their daily thoughts and feelings, according to a March 2016 study in Psychotherapy Research.

Sniff a soothing scent to encourage your brain to relax and get ready for sleep.

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"A whiff of organic lavender oil or a drop on your pillow can shorten time to sleep onset and increase sleep quality and duration," Dr. Skillicorn says.

That's because lavender is known for its sedative and hypnotic properties. Indeed, a July 2015 Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine study found that incorporating lavender at bedtime improved sleep quality for college students with self-reported sleep issues.

6. Practice Deep Breathing and Mindfulness

Slow, deep belly breaths send a message of safety to the limbic system, Dr. Skillicorn says. Here's why: Deep breathing turns off the sympathetic nervous system and activates the parasympathetic nervous system, which allows the body to rest, digest and sleep, she explains.

While breathing, notice the belly fill and expand like a balloon as you inhale and contract and deflate as you exhale.

"As you do this, your mind will likely wander that's what minds do but simply acknowledge the thinking and return to the breath again," Dr. Skillicorn says.

It may be helpful to give the mind another focal point, Dr. Skillicorn adds. You can do this by counting the breaths or just saying to yourself "breathing in" as you inhale and "breathing out" as you exhale, she says.

Similarly, "whispering qigong healing sounds as you exhale like 'haaaaa' and 'heeeee' can also aid the body in letting go of emotional residue from the day," Dr. Skillicorn says.

Experiment and see what combination of breathing and sounds works best for you.

7. Reframe Your Ruminating Thoughts

When your mind races before bed, your first instinct might be to make it stop ASAP. But pushing away your worries or trying to control your concerns may not be the answer.

"Being curious about your thoughts, emotions and body sensations rather than judging and seeing them as problems to be solved helps shift us out of a state of hypervigilance," Dr. Skillicorn says.

See the rest here:
7 Ways to Stop Racing Thoughts at Night and Get to Sleep - Livestrong

LONDON The U.K. is planning to use artificial intelligence software to try to better predict when cloud movements will affect solar power generation.

National Grid Electricity System Operator, or ESO, which moves electricity around the country, has signed a deal with non-profit Open Climate Fix to create an AI-powered tracking system that matches cloud movements with the exact locations of solar panels.

The grid operator said that the software, which is set to be used in the national control room, could help it to forecast cloud movements in minutes and hours instead of days.

Open Climate Fix's "nowcasting" technology has the potential to improve solar forecasting accuracy by up to 50%, a spokesperson for National Grid ESO told CNBC.

The project, which commenced in August, is set to last 18 months and it is being funded by U.K. energy regulator Ofgem with 500,000 ($683,100).

Natonal Grid ESO is responsible for maintaining the balance of supply and demand for the U.K. electricity grid down to the second.

This is challenging with fossil fuels and nuclear power, but the unpredictable nature of solar and wind makes the task even more complex.

To help address the issue, London-headquartered Open Climate Fix says it has trained a machine-learning model to read satellite images and understand how and where clouds are moving in relation to solar panels on the ground.

"Accurate forecasts for weather-dependent generation like solar and wind are vital for us in operating a low carbon electricity system," said Carolina Tortora, head of innovation strategy and digital transformation at National Grid ESO, in a statement last week.

"The more confidence we have in our forecasts, the less we'll have to cover for uncertainty by keeping traditional, more controllable fossil fuel plants ticking over," she added.

Co-founded by former DeepMind employee Jack Kelly in 2018, Open Climate Fix was backed by Google's philanthropic arm, Google.org, with 500,000 in April.

At one point, DeepMind wanted to use its own AI technology to optimize National Grid. However, last March, it emerged that talks had broken down between DeepMind and National Grid.

While DeepMind denies it has shifted its focus from climate change to other areas of science, several key climate change researchers that were part of the company's energy unit have left the company over the last two years, and it has made few climate change-related announcements.

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UK aims to boost solar by predicting cloud movements with A.I. - CNBC

Illustration by Comrade

Adrift in the middle of the ocean, no one can hear you scream.

It was a lesson Brad Cavanagh was learning by the second. He had been above deck on the Trashman, a sleek, 58-foot Alden sailing yacht with a pine-green hull and elegant teak trim, battling 100-mile-per-hour winds as sheets of rain fell from the turbulent black sky. The latest news report had mentioned nothing about bad weather, but two days into his voyage a tropical storm formed off of Cape Fear in the Carolinas, whipping up massive, violent waves out of nowhere. Soaked to the skin and too tired to stand, the North Shore native from Byfield sought refuge down below, where he braced himself by pressing his feet and back between the walls of a narrow hallway to keep from being knocked down as 30-foot-tall walls of water tossed the boat around the open seas.

Below deck with Cavanagh were four crewmates: Debbie Scaling, with blond hair and blue eyes, was an experienced sailor. As the first American woman to complete the Whitbread Round the World Raceduring which shed navigated some of the most difficult conditions on the planetshe was already well known in professional sailing circles. Mark Adams, a mid-twenties Englishman who had been Cavanaghs occasional racing partner; the boats captain, John Lippoth; and Lippoths girlfriend, Meg Mooney, rounded out the crew, who were moving a Texas tycoons yacht from Maine to Florida for the winter season.

As the storm continued, Cavanagh grew increasingly angry. At 21 years old and less experienced than most of the others, he felt as though no one had a plan for how they were going to get out of this mess alive. He knew their situation was dire. The motor was dead for the third time on the trip, and they had already cut off the wind-damaged mainsail. That meant nature was in control. They could only ride it out and hope to survive long enough for the Coast Guard to rescue them. Crewmates had been in contact with authorities nearly every hour since the early morning, and a rescue boat was supposedly on its way. Its just a matter of time, Cavanagh told himself again and again, just a matter of time.

After a while, the storm settled into a predictable pattern: The boat would ride up a wave, tilt slightly to port-side and then ride down the wave, and right itself for a moment of stillness and quiet, sheltered from the wind in the valley between mountains of water. Cavanagh began to relax, but then the boat rose over another wave, tilted hard, and never righted itself. Watching the dark waters of the Atlantic approach with terrifying speed through the window in front of him, Cavanagh braced for impact. An instant later, water shattered the window and began rushing into the boat.He jumped up from the floor with a single thought: He had to rouse Scaling from her bunkroom. He had to get everyone off the ship. The Trashman was going down.

Three days earlier, the weather had been perfect: The sun sparkled on the water and warmed everything its rays touched, despite bursts of cool breezes. Cavanagh was walking the docks of Annapolis Harbor alongside Adams, both of them hunting for work. A job Adams had previously secured for them aboard a boat had fallen through, and all they had to show for it was a measly $50 each. As they made their way along the water, Cavanagh spotted an attractive woman standing by a bank of pay phones. He looked at her and she stared back at him, a sandy-haired, 6-foot-3-inch former prep school hockey player draped in a letterman jacket. It wasnt until she called out his name that he realized who she was: Debbie Scaling.

Cavanagh came of age in a boating family. Hed survived his first hurricane at sea in utero, and grew up on 4,300 feet of riverfront property in Byfield, where his father, a trained reconnaissance photographer named Paul, taught him and his siblings how to sail from an early age. From the outside, the elite schools, the sailboat, the new car every five years, the grand house, and the self-made patriarch gave the impression that the Cavanaghs were living the suburban American dream. Inside the home, though, it was a horror show. Always drinking, Cavanaghs father emotionally abused, insulted, and belittled his wife and children, Cavanagh recalls. Whenever Cavanagh heard the clinking of ice cubes in his fathers glass, his stress meter spiked.

Despite thator perhaps because of itall Cavanagh ever wanted was his fathers approval. Sailing, he thought, would earn his respect. Cavanaghs sister, Sarah, after all, had been a star sailor, and at family dinners his hard-drinkingand hard-to-pleasefather talked about her with pride and adulation. In fact, it was Cavanaghs sister who had first met Scaling when they raced across the Atlantic together a year earlier. She had recently introduced Scaling to Cavanagh and her family, and now, standing at that pay phone in Annapolis, Scaling could hardly believe her eyes. At that very moment, she had just called Cavanaghs household in hopes of convincing Sarah to join the crew of the Trashman, and here was Sarahs younger brother standing right in front of her.

Scaling was desperately looking for help on the yacht. Already things had been going poorly: The boats captain, Lippoth, who was a heavy drinker, was passed out below deck when she first showed up at the Southwest Harbor dock in Maine to report for work. Soon after they set sail, they picked up the captains girlfriend, Mooney, because she wanted to come along for the trip. From Maine to Maryland, Lippoth rarely eased the sails and relied on the inboard motor, which consistently sputtered and needed repair. Theyd struggled to pick up additional hands as they traveled south, and Scaling knew they needed more-qualified help for the difficult sail along the coast of the Carolinas, exposed at sea to high winds and waves. Scaling didnt share any of this with Cavanagh or Adams when Lippoth offered them a job, though. Happy to have work, the pair accepted and climbed aboard.

Perhaps Cavanagh should have known something was wrong with the yacht when the captain mentioned that the engine kept burning out.

Mayday! Mayday! A crew member was shouting into the radio, trying to summon the Coast Guard as the yacht began taking on water. Cavanagh had just burst into Scalings cabin, while Adams roused Lippoth and Mooney. And now they huddled together at the bottom of a flight of stairs watching the salty seawater rise toward the ceiling. Lippoth tried to activate the radio beacon that would have given someone, anyone, their latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates, but the water rushing in carried it away before he could reach it.

The crew started making their way up toward the deck to abandon ship. Cavanagh spotted the 11-and-a-half-foot, red-and-black Zodiac Mark II tied to a cleat near the cockpit. The outboard motor sat next to it on the mount, but the yacht was sinking too fast to grab it. As he fumbled with the lines of the Zodiac, one broke, recoiled, and ripped his shirt open. Then he lost his grip on the dinghy, and it floated off. Fortunately, it didnt go far. Adams wasnt so lucky. A strong gust of wind ripped the life raft out of his hands, and the sinking yacht started to take the raft and its emergency food, water rations, and first-aid kit down with it. By the time Cavanagh swam off the Trashman, it was nearly submerged.

As Cavanagh made his way toward the dinghy, he kicked off his boots, which belonged to his father. For a moment, all he could think was how angry his dad would be at him for losing them. When he got to the Zodiac, he yelled to the others to grab ahold of the raft before the yacht sucked them down with it. The crew made it onto the dinghy with nothing but the clothing on their backs. As they turned around, the last visible piece of the Trashman disappeared beneath the ocean.

Terrified, the five crew members spent the next four hours in the water, being thrashed about by the waves while holding on to the lines along the sides of the Zodiac, which they had flipped upside down to prevent it from blowing away. During the calmer moments, they ducked underneath for protection from the strong winds, with only their heads occupying a pocket of air underneath the raft. There wasnt much space to maneuver, but still Cavanagh felt the need to move toward one end of the boat to get some distance from his crewmates while he processed his white-hot anger at Lippoth and Adams. Over the past two days, Adams had often been too drunk to do his job, and Lippoth never did anything about it, leaving him and Scaling to pick up the slack. Cavanagh had spent his childhood on a boat with a drunken father, and now, once again, hed somehow managed to team up with an alcoholic sailing partner and a captain willing to look the other way.

Perhaps he should have known something was wrong with the yacht when the captain mentioned that the engine kept burning out. Maybe he should have been concerned that Lippoth didnt even have enough money for supplies. But there was nothing he could do about it now, adrift in the Atlantic and crammed under an inflated dinghy trying to stay alive.

As nighttime approached and the temperature dropped, Cavanagh devised a plan for the crew to seek shelter on the underside of the Zodiac yet remain out of the water. First, he grabbed a wire on the raft and ran it from side to side. He lay his head on the bow of the boat and rested his lower body on the wire. Then the others climbed on top of him, any way they could, to stay under the dinghys floor but just out of the water. When the oxygen underneath the Zodiac ran out, theyd exit, lift the boat just long enough to allow new air into the pocket, and go back under again.

Sleep-deprived and dehydrated, Cavanaghs mind wandered home to Byfield and the endless summer afternoons of his childhood spent under his familys slimy dock, playing hide-and-seek with friends. Cavanagh had spent a lot of his life hiding from his father and his alcohol-fueled rages. If there was a silver lining to the abuse and the fear he grew up with, it was that he learned how to survive under pressure and to avoid the one fatal strain of seasickness: panic.

The next morning, that skill was suddenly in high demand as Lippoth unexpectedly swam out from under the Zodiac to find fresh air. He said he felt like he was having a heart attack and refused to go back under. The storm had calmed, but a cool autumn breeze was sucking the heat from their wet bodies, and Cavanagh wanted the crew to stay under the boat to keep warm. Disagreeing with him, Cavanaghs crewmates decided to flip the boat right-side up and climb onboard. It momentarily saved their lives: They soon noticed three tiger sharks circling them.

Mooney had accidentally gotten caught on a coil of lines and wires while abandoning the yacht, leaving a bloody gash behind her knee. Everyone else had their cuts and scrapes, too, and the sharks had followed the scent. The largest shark in the group began banging against the boat, then swam under the craft and picked it up out of the water with its body before letting it drop back down. The crew grabbed onto the sides of the Zodiac while Cavanagh and Scaling tried to fashion a makeshift anchor out of a piece of plywood attached to the raft with the metal wire, hoping that it would help steady the boat. No sooner had they dropped the wood into the water than a shark bit it and began dragging the boat at full speed like some twisted version of a joy ride. When the shark finally spit the makeshift anchor out, Cavanagh reeled it in and Adams, in a rage, grabbed it and tried to smash the sharks head with it. Cavanagh begged his partner to calm down. The sharks reaction to that might be bad, he said, so just cool it.

Cavanagh believed that if they could all just stay calm enough to keep the boat upright, they could make it out alive. The Coast Guard knows were here, Cavanagh told the others, who had heard a plane roaring overhead before the Trashman sank. It was presumably sent to locate any survivors so a rescue ship could bring them back to shore. Unknown at the time was that a boat had been on the way to rescue the group, when for some reasona miscommunication of sortsthe search was either forgotten or called off. No one was coming for them.

Brad Cavanagh is still haunted by his fight for survival. / Portrait by Matt Kalinowski

Fighting to survive, Cavanagh knew he needed to keep his mind and body busy. With blistered lips and cracked hands, he pulled seaweed onboard to use as a blanket, and he flipped the boat to clean out the urine and fetid water that had accumulated in it. First, he scanned the water to make sure the sharks had left. Then, with Adamss help, he leaned back and tugged on the wire to flip the boat, rinsed it out, and flipped it back over again so everyone could climb back in. He had a job and a purpose, and it kept him sane.

The others struggled. Adams and Lippoth were severely dehydrated. (Adams from all the scotch he drank and Lippoth from the cigarettes he chain-smoked before the Trashman went down.) Meanwhile, Mooneys cut was infected and filled with pus; she was getting sicker and weaker. As they lay together in a small pool of water in the bottom of the boat, they all developed body sores, likely from staph infections. Cavanaghs skin became so tender that even brushing up against another person sent a current of pain through his body. After three days without food and water and using their energy to hold on to the Zodiac during the storm, they were all completely spent.

Realizing that the Coast Guard may not be coming after all, some crew members began to believe their only hope for survival was to eventually wash up on shore. What they werent aware of was that a current was pulling them even farther out to sea.

That night, Cavanagh dreamt of home. He was on a boat, sailing, and talking to the men on a fishing vessel riding along next to him as he made his way from Newburyport to Buzzards Bay. It was the route his family took when moving their boat every summer.

The day after he had that dream, the situation descended into a nightmare: Lippoth and Adams began drinking seawater. It slaked their thirst momentarily, but Cavanagh knew it would only be a matter of time before it sent them deeper into madness. Soon enough, the delusions began. First, Lippoth started reaching around the bottom of the boat looking for supplies that didnt exist. We bought cigarettes. Where are they? Lippoth asked. Then Lippoth began trying to convince Mooney that they were going to take a plane to Maine, where his mother worked at a hospital. Were going to Portland, he told her. Im going to get the car. I want you guys to pick up the boat and Ill come back out and get you, Lippoth said before sliding over the edge of the Zodiac and into the water.

Brad, youve got to get John, Scaling said to Cavanagh in a panic. But Cavanagh was so weak, he could barely muster the energy to coax Lippoth back onboard. If you go away and die, then I might die, too. I dont want to die, Cavanagh pleaded.

It was too late. The wind pulled the Zodiac away from him. The captain soon drifted out of sight. Across the empty expanse of the ocean, Cavanagh could hear Lippoths last howls as the sharks attacked.

An old newspaper clipping of Cavanagh and Scaling, not long before their rescue. / Courtesy photo

Now there were four. Cavanagh, though, noticed Adams was quickly careening into madness, hitting on Mooney, and proposing that sex would cheer her up. Rebuffed, he decided to take his party elsewhere. Great, Cavanagh recalls him saying, if were not going to have sex, Im going back to 7-Eleven to get some beers and cigarettes.

Youre not going, Cavanagh said. Were out in the middle of the ocean.

I know, I know, he told Cavanagh. Im just going to hang over the side and stretch out a little bit. Ill get back in the boat.

Holding onto the side of the raft, Adams slipped into the water. Cavanagh looked away for a moment to say something to Scaling, and when he turned back, Adams was gone. Soon after, the boat began to spin and the water around them started to churn wildly. Cavanagh knew the sharks had gotten Adams, but he was so focused on surviving that it hardly registered that his racing buddy was gone forever.

The three remaining castaways spent the rest of the evening being knocked around as the sharks bumped and prodded the boat. They found something they like, Cavanagh said to himself. And now they want more.

Mooney lay there shivering violently from the cold. In the black of night, she lurched at Cavanagh, scratching at him and screaming. Then she began speaking in tongues. In the morning, Cavanagh woke first and found her lying on her back, her arms outstretched, staring into the sky. Shes dead, Cavanagh said when Scaling woke up. Shes been dead for hours.

Then a terrifying thought came to his mind: Maybe we could eat her. He was so hungry, so desperately famished, but her body was covered in sores and oozing pus.

Cavanagh and Scaling removed Mooneys shirt so they would have another layer to keep warm, and her jewelry so they could return it to her family. They still hoped they would have that chance. Then they pushed her naked body off the raft. She floated like a jellyfish, with her arms and legs straight down, away and over the waves. Neither of them were watching when the sharks came for her, too.

After Mooney died, Scaling was troubled that she was lying in pus-infected water and begged Cavanagh to flip the boat over and clean it out. Weak and unsteady, he agreed to try. Standing on the edge of the Zodiac, he tugged the wire and tried to flip it, but he didnt have the strength to do it alone. Then he gave another tug, lost his balance, and tumbled backward into the water. He tried to get back in the boat but couldnt. Panic seized him. Every person who had come off that boat had been eaten by sharks. He needed to get back in fast, and he needed Scalings help.

Cavanagh begged her to help him up, but she only sat there sobbing inconsolably on the other side of the raft. With his last bit of strength, Cavanagh willed himself over the side on his own. He sat in the boat, winded and seething with anger. The entire time, from when they were on the Trashman with a drunken crewmate, during the storm, and throughout their harrowing journey on the Zodiac, Scaling and Cavanagh had upheld a pact to look out for each other, to protect each other from the sharks, the madness, the others. How could she have left me there in the water? he thought. How could she have let me down? They were supposed to be a team. Now on their fifth day without food or water, he couldnt even look at her. There were two of them left, but he felt alone.

They sat in a cold, uncomfortable silence until he had something important to say. Deb, look, Cavanagh shouted. A large vessel was approaching them. Theyd spotted a couple of ships before in the distance, but none were close enough for them to be seen. As it moved toward them, he could see a man on the deck waving. Shortly after, crew members threw lines with large glass buoys on the end of them. But they all landed short, splashing in the water too far away. Undeterred, the men on deck pulled the rescue buoys back and tried again.

Cavanagh, for his part, couldnt move. Im not going anywhere, he told Scaling. It felt as if every muscle had gone limp. He had nothing left after spending days balancing the boat, flipping it, pulling it, and watching his crewmates die. The ship made another turn. Closer. The men aboard threw the lines again. Scaling jumped into the water and started swimming.

Seeing his crewmate in the water was all the motivation Cavanagh needed. Fuck it, he told himself. Here I go. He rolled overboard and managed to grab a line, letting the crew reel his weakened body in and hoist him up onto the deck along with Scaling. Aboard the ship, Cavanagh saw women wearing calico dresses with aprons and steel-toed work boots waiting for them. They were speaking Russian. At the height of the Cold War, the U.S. Coast Guard never came to save them, but ice traders on a Soviet vessel did.

The crew gave Cavanagh and Scaling dry clothes and medical attention, along with warm tea kettles filled with coffee, sugar, and vodka. That night, as the Coast Guard finally arrived and spirited the two survivors to a hospital, the temperature dropped down into the 30s. Cavanagh and Scaling wouldnt have made it through another night at sea.

As Cavanagh was recuperating in the hospital, his mother flew down to be by his side. Seeing her appear at his bedside felt like the happiest moment of his life. His father, however, never came; he was on a sailing trip.

Cavanagh soon returned home to Massachusetts and once again felt the need to keep busy: He immediately began taking odd jobs in hopes of earning enough cash to begin traveling to sailboat races again. Processing what hed enduredfive days without food or water and man-eating sharkswas next to impossible. The Southern Ocean Racing Conference season in Florida started in January, and he was determined to be there, but not necessarily to race. He needed to talk to the only other person who had made it off that Zodiac alive. He had something important he needed to tell Scaling.

A few months later, Cavanagh boarded a flight to Fort Lauderdale for the event. With no place to stay, he slept in an empty boat parked in a field. Walking around the next day, he caught a glimpse of the latest issue of Sail magazine and stopped dead in his tracks: Staring back at him was a photo of him and Adams, plastered across the cover. A photographer had snapped a shot of the two racing buddies just before theyd joined the Trashman. It was like seeing a ghost.

Cavanagh paced the docks searching for Scalingthen there she stood, looking as beautiful as ever. His whole body was pumping with adrenaline at the sight of his former crewmate. He needed to tell her he was in love with her. They had shared something that no one else could ever understand. The bond he felt was far deeper than any hed ever known.

He moved toward her to speak, but the mere sight of Cavanagh made Scaling recoil, reminding her of the horrors that shed suffered at sea while in the Zodiac. Im sorry, but I cannot be around you, he recalls her saying. I dont want you to have anything to do with me. Please leave me alone.Dejected and hurt, Cavanagh retreated. Then he did what hed always done: He walked the docks, banging on boats until he found someone willing to hire him.

As the years rolled by like waves, Scaling became a socialite and motivational speaker, talking publicly and often about her fight to survive. She appeared on Larry King Live and wrote a memoir. She and Cavanagh both continued to sail and ran in similar circles, seeing each other often, and both trying desperately to hide their pain when they did.

Scaling eventually settled down in Medfield, where she raised a family and spent summers on the Cape. In 2009, her son, also an avid sailor, drowned in an accident. Nearly three years to the day later, she passed away in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, at 54. Cavanagh was walking out of a marina in Newport, Rhode Island, when someone broke the news to him. He was profoundly disappointed. Disappointed with life itself. He had loved her. There was no information in her obituary about her cause of death, but he recalls there were whispers among family members of suicide. Cavanagh believed no one could have saved her: She was still tortured by those days lost at sea. He was now the lone survivor of the Trashman tragedy.

Several years later, Scalings daughter gave Cavanagh a frame. Inside it was a neatly coiled metal wirethe same one Cavanagh had rigged up to suspend their shivering bodies under the Zodiac and flip the boat to keep it clean. It was what had kept them both alive. Unbeknownst to him, Scaling had retrieved it after the dinghy was found still floating in the ocean. She framed it and hung it on her wall, keeping it close all those years.

Cavanagh remains hell-bent on learning why the Coast Guard never showed up in the aftermath of that fateful storm.

On a cold winter day, I drove to Cavanaghs home in Bourne, where he lives with his wife, a schoolteacher, and his two children. He still had wide shoulders and a strong face, now layered with deep wrinkles, and greeted me with a handshake. His enormous hands engulfed mine.

The wind howled outside and a fire burned in the living rooms gas stove as he sat down on his couch to talkfor the very first time at lengthabout his life since being rescued. Above his head was the rendering of a floating school he once wanted to build for the Massachusetts Maritime Academy. It had classrooms, living quarters for the students, and bathrooms, but it never was built. It became one of Cavanaghs many grand ideas over the years, all of which had to do with sailing, that he never saw to fruition. He wants to write a book, too, like Scaling, but he hasnt been able to get started.

Sailing is the one thing that has remained constant in Cavanaghs life. He said the ocean continued to give him freedom, even as he remained chained to his past, to the shipwreck that almost killed him, and to the abusive father who failed him.

While we sat there, listening to the wind, Cavanagh pulled out his fathers sailing logbook. In it were the dates and locations of his around-the-world trip. The day his father set sail in 1982, Cavanagh thought he was finally safe. His mother had just filed for divorce and Cavanagh no longer felt he had to stick around to protect her, so he left home to start his life. His father had invited him to join him on his trip, but there was no way Cavanagh was doing that. He wound up on the Trashman instead.

Cavanagh paused to read his fathers entries from the days that Cavanagh was lost at sea. At the time, his father had been docked and drunk in Bermuda, which lies off the coast of the Carolinas, just beyond where the yacht went down. Then he set sail again into the weakened tail end of the same storm that had sunk the Trashman, not knowing that his son had been floating in that same ocean, fighting for his life and waiting for someone to save him.

Cavanagh remains hell-bent on learning why the Coast Guard never showed up in the aftermath of that fateful storm. He has documents and photos from the official case file after the sinking of the Trashman, but they give few, if any, clues. He has spent decades trying to figure out what happened, and now that hes the only crew member alive, hes even more determined to find the truth. He wants to know how rescuers forgot about him and his crewmates, and why. Haunted by his memories, he has driven up and down the East Coast, stopping at bases and looking for anyone to speak to him about the incident. He is still adrift, nearly 40 years later, still searching for answers.

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Shipwrecked: A Shocking Tale of Love, Loss, and Survival in the Deep Blue Sea - Boston magazine

A research team from the University of California San Diego and Microsoft has come up with a novel approach to improve model accuracy on computer vision tasks at extremely low compute costs, achieving significant performance gains over state-of-the-art models.

Todays increasingly efficient CNN architectures such as MobileNet and ShuffleNet have dramatically cut computational costs. On tasks such as ImageNet classification, the required compute has plummeted by two orders of magnitude from 3.8G FLOPs to about 40M FLOPs with acceptable performance trade-offs. But even the best models struggle in the extremely low FLOP regime (21M to 4M MAdds).

The researchers address this deficiency in the new paper MicroNet: Improving Image Recognition with Extremely Low FLOPs.

The study looks at extremely low FLOPs from the perspectives of node connectivity and non-linearity, which are related to network width and depth, respectively. To improve accuracy, they propose sparse connectivity and a dynamic activation function: the former avoids a significant reduction of network width, while the latter alleviates issues related to network depth reduction.

The proposed Micro-Factorized Convolution (MF-Conv) method optimizes trade-offs between the number of channels and node connectivity by factorizing a convolution matrix into low-rank matrices to integrate sparse connectivity into convolution.

Micro-Factorized pointwise and depthwise convolutions can be combined via regular combination, which concatenates the two convolutions; or lite combination, which employs Micro-Factorized depthwise convolutions to expand the number of channels, then applies one group-adaptive convolution to fuse and squeeze the number of channels.

The team also introduces dynamic Shift-Max (DY-ShiftMax), a dynamic non-linearity that strengthens connections between the groups created by micro-factorization, to improve non-linearity.

Based on their Micro-Factorized convolution and dynamic Shift-Max, the team designed MicroNet models comprising three Micro-Blocks. Micro-Block-A expands the number of channels via Micro-Factorized depthwise convolution and compresses them with a group-adaptive convolution. Micro-Block-B uses a full Micro-Factorized pointwise convolution to compress and expand the number of channels. Micro-Block-C meanwhile implements a regular combination of Micro-Factorized depthwise and pointwise convolutions.

The team created four models with varying computational costs (4M, 6M, 12M, 21M MAdds) and evaluated them on three tasks: image classification, object detection, and keypoint detection in human pose estimation.

In the evaluations, the 12M and 21M FLOP MicroNet models outperformed MobileNetV3 by 9.6 percent and 4.5 percent respectively in terms of top-1 accuracy on the ImageNet classification task; MicroNet-M3 achieved higher mAP (mean average precision) than MobileNetV3-Small 1.0 with significantly lower backbone FLOPs (21M vs 56M) on the object detection task; and MicroNet-M3 outperformed the baseline while only consuming 22 percent (163.2M/726.9M) of the FLOPs on the keypoint detection task.

Overall, the MicroNet model family achieved solid improvements across all three tasks, demonstrating the proposed approachs effectiveness under extremely low FLOP conditions.

The paper MicroNet: Improving Image Recognition with Extremely Low FLOPs is on arXiv.

Author: Hecate He |Editor: Michael Sarazen, Chain Zhang

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UCSD & Microsoft Improve Image Recognition With Extremely Low FLOPs - Synced