I don’t know why it is, but there are a lotta folks out there who say they want to take off on a major voyage, but in reality, have no desire whatsoever to actually take off.
You know them. You see them every day on the dock; people who have been planning a voyage and keep setting the departure back because their new kathorple valve hasn’t set yet, or their double wickerbill needs adjusting. Maybe next month… or next season… or next year.
What is it that keeps them locked into their slip, occasionally venturing out for a weekend up the coast or down the lake? It’s a fear of the unknown. What’s it going to be like once I am out there? Day after day of nothing but huge rolling seas, and winds blowing 35-50 knots? And there won’t be anywhere to hide out there, right?
Okay, let’s calm down a bit and take a little walk into reality. You have cast off and the boat is loaded with provisions and spares. You have all the charts you’re gonna need, and the latest electronic gizmos are stacked to the cabin top telling you wind speed, depth, water temperature and what time dinner will be served.
As you head out of the marina you still have a tinge of fear, but now the fear of actually leaving is behind you. To quote Rocky (the fighter, not the flying squirrel), “Hey, it ain’t so bad!”
As the day passes you start getting out into the tradewinds. It’s at about this point that you start to realize that they blow 25-30 knots all the time. But look! We aren’t sinking! In fact, we seem to be making pretty good time, and the boats hanging right in there.
That night as the sun sets, you really start to get antsy. It’s dark out, and we all know it is when it’s dark that all the sea monsters come out. Large floating logs are equipped with boat-seeking devices, and they switch on in the dark.
And so the first night you can’t sleep. How could any sane person sleep when sea monsters and large logs and containers that have fallen from container ships are just laying in wait?! You swear to Neptune and all the gods that be.
As the sun comes up you breath a sigh of relief. You are still alive, and the boat’s still afloat.
About mid day, while the wife’s on watch you kick back in the cockpit, and in a matter of seconds you doze off. She let’s you sleep through about half your watch, and when you awaken it is with a start.
Looking around you realize that everything is okay. As you survey the horizon it looks just like it did when you left home port. Only difference is, now it’s the same in every direction. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.
But that doesn’t matter. You have water in your tanks, and the boat’s still afloat. Maybe you were mistaken about sleep. Maybe someday you will be able to actually sleep when it’s dark.
As the days pass you start to realize the truth about cruising. You learn that long passages are safer than the short ones and a lot more relaxing. First of all, there are no hard things, like rocks and shorelines to avoid. After awhile you also realize that ships are so few and far between, and oceans so big, the chances of passing within 10 miles of a ship, much less colliding with one, just doesn’t happen.
You also learn that at night it is more relaxing than during the day. You find that the watch you thought you’d hate, from 4am to 6am, becomes your favorite. An hour or so sitting looking up at the stars and listening to the water slosh against the deck is only surpassed by the glow in the eastern sky as the sun starts to rise over the horizon.
I love to watch the transformation of people who have sailed with Jody and I crossing a major ocean. In the beginning they are determined that on night watch two or three people should be up in case of emergencies, and as the time passes they can’t wait until they have a night watch, with no one around, so they can sit and enjoy the solitude of sailing with nothing but the stars.
At sea you live one day at a time. A voyage around the world is nothing but a succession of days, one after the other. At the end of one day you go to sleep, and in the morning you awaken to a new day. It happens on land, and it happens at sea.
If you have any doubt about that, just look at the people who have been on a major voyage. The vast majority cannot wait to get back out there, to a place where you only have to worry about the moment you are living in.
As Franklin D. Roosevelt so aptly put it, “The only thing to fear is fear itself.”
In no other pastime is that more true than in sailing.
