Passage Musings
A look back at the blog posts and this life is just perfect! But a whole lot of it isn’t and those are the parts we don’t talk about often. In fact, not talking about it is something fellow sailors do talk about: that it’s difficult to share the challenges of this lifestyle with land-based friends. We feel ungrateful or pessimistic, or that our problems out here could never rival those of being on land day in and day out. Even on our worst days we’re not sitting in traffic or at a desk. That is true and we are grateful. After all, it’s a choice to be out here, but there are also sacrifices.
One of the biggest sacrifices we make is not being close enough to share in the joys and sorrows. I don’t get to see my nephew’s band concerts (even if my sister claims that’s a blessing) and we no long share holiday traditions. Milestone birthdays, job changes, divorce, birth, and too often, death, it’s hard not to be there. We call and text, but nothing replaces a hug, long walk or a chat where it’s coffee between us and not oceans. The best relationships are like constellations, with many little points of light connecting us, and the more points of light, the stronger the shape of the bond.
Sailing is hard. Not necessarily the part where we live at anchor and search out groceries — I’ve written about that and it can be a challenge. But actually being at sea is difficult. Right now, we’re crossing from Bahamas to Bermuda, 920 miles, approximately 5 days. This is an ocean passage, meaning we aren’t protected by land, there is nowhere to stop or ‘bailout’ and it’s long enough for the weather predictions to be a bit off. We’re two days in and we’ve had some rough moments. The kids sleep fitfully in the salon, uncomfortable alone in their rooms. We have the outside chairs wedged into the galley in case the boat rocks so suddenly and steeply as to force the drawers open, which happens far more often than we would like. I’ve taken seasick meds on schedule so I feel fine, but in 2 meter swells, I’m still mostly confined to my favorite spot on the sofa. At night, it can be dark and disorienting, the sounds feel amplified as Big Em flexes in the water around her. We trust that each swell we can’t see isn’t a rogue wave. We wear life vests outside and hold on to handrails. We’re careful sailors, we don’t underestimate the power of the ocean.
Our worst passages ever were from Curaçao to Jamaica, three nights of hell, and from Jamaica to the Bahamas, 24 hours passing between Haiti and Cuba of even worse hell. On passages like those, there is nothing to do but endure. Russ and Kyle rotate watches as I’m useless even with meds. The time passes slowly. At one point between Jamaica and the Bahamas, as it got dark, the slamming of the boat was so overwhelming I laid in bed listening to Enya, trying to drown out the noise and the fear. The kids, of course, were uncomfortable yet they seem much more resilient in their endurance.
In addition to enduring, we eat. I had a serious misconception about sailing life that we would naturally be in great shape due to working hard to sail this boat. In fact, we sit so much on passages that we set records for least steps walked. And we pass the time by cooking and baking when weather allows, and eating. On passage in the middle of the night? Ramen. Bored during the day? Cheese and crackers. Bored in the afternoon? Popcorn. Need a little pick-me-up? Cookies or candy. It is an endless cycle of sitting and eating.
During the day we still have school - it’s currently the last week of the year for Jordan and finals are due. He has no choice but to do them, regardless of how he feels and the status of the sea. On a good day, school out here is a battle of wills, of patience, of testing limits and pushing boundaries. We reason, argue, cajole, put the pencil in his hand, stay firm. He whines, complains, yells, says he doesn’t feel good or doesn’t know how to do it, but he eventually gets it done. School is the hardest part of our messy life at sea. Big Emoceans isn’t just a name; it’s a lifestyle. (Don’t get me wrong - if he were truly sick, we would figure out a way, but he can watch movies, read his kindle and play games just fine….)
In sailing, when things break, it can be catastrophic. When the wind isn’t as predicted, it can be disastrous. When we haven’t seen anyone but each other for days on end and we’re at our wits’ end, it feels dreadful.
And here we are, another day on the water, truly lucky to be living this difficult, messy, adventurous life.
