Hard Days Night

Determined to stay one step ahead of the Polar Vortex, we were considering trying to make our first overnight jump from Charleston to Fernandina Beach. It appeared the element were conspiring, coaxing us toward the deep blue ocean. With waves at 2-3 ft and a 5-6 second period, we were hopeful for the most comfortable ride yet

Really, fingers crossed because surprise, surprise the girl who has always gotten car sick gets sea-sick. I have high hopes though, each time has gotten easier. And the best thing about motion sickness, it's temporary, once you stop, it stops.

I had my nausea prevention strategy in place. No coffee the morning of, make sure I have a full belly before we take off, and half a Dramimine, which does come with drowsiness and irritability (I don’t care what the label says), but with a pay off of no puking, we’ll take it .

The forecast also promised gentle westerly winds with gusts at 12-17 knots, nothing to be too nervous about, especially with our sails double-reefed. This would put us on a delightful beam reach. Our boat loves a beam reach. She's fast on a beam reach. Ok, ok what is a beam reach. - it's a point of sail, which refers to the positioning of the wind on your boat to which you adjust your sails accordingly.

If you are taking the wind in the most uncomfortable position, right up the nose, you are ‘in irons’, meaning your boat is literally paralyzed by the wind. This is why it’s the position you put the boat in to raise and lower the sails. A little further back from that and you are ‘closed hauled’, moving, but an uphill battle for sure with your sails trimmed tightly to the boat. Easier and still upwind sailing is ‘close reach’, when the wind is grazing the cheeks of your boat. But the real joy? A ‘beam reach’! The wind kisses your ears of your boat, the sails billow out, and you glide along, a vision of grace and speed. And then there’s ‘running’ with the wind at your back, a thrilling but terrifying pursuit, where the sudden, unexpected ‘accidental jibe’ is ever lurking (look it up). There are more points of sail to consider, but for our purposes, those will suffice.

We woke in pitch black to get the boat moving before slack tide turned into a ripping current. We were pushed off the dock by 5:30, and I was dutifully stationed at the front of the boat, spotlight in hand, searching frantically for crab pots in the dark. Determined to do better than my first game of crab pot hunt, a pathetic 1 for 7 before Patrick, at the helm thankfully still managed to spot them - to be fair it was a beautiful sunrise and I was capturing the moment.

The slow crawl out of the inlet seemed to last an age. It was cold, the bitter wind biting at my face, or maybe it was the sting of my tears as I reflected on the far too short Charleston visit. Not enough time with friends and family and far too little raw oysters enjoyed. I needed that time, those visits, those hugs, and encouragements. I will go ahead and fully admit, this transition has not been the easiest for me. Patrick was been born for this, while I feel like I’m struggling to tread water, gasping for air as I unavoidably gulp down mouthfuls of salty ocean waves.

There have been moments where I thought to myself, ‘I hate this’, but I am committed to this experience. I don't want ‘I hate this’ to become my mantra and seep into my subconscious every time something is challenging. So, instead I acknowledge the discomfort. It's uncomfortable, I'm uncomfortable, but unlike hate ‘uncomfortable’ allows for growth. The most beautiful orchids are known to bloom in the most challenging terrain.

Comfort, I’ve learned can stunt your growth. It wasn't until I faced a little adversity that I began to see real change in myself. Sailing is another spoonful of that adversity, with the added benefit of a built-in cheering section. Every other sailor on the water. They have tasted the pain, disappointment, frustration, fear, and hardship that this life throws your way. But they’ve also been on the other side. They know it's worth pushing through. I’ve been told, cruising on a sailboat is experiencing high highs and low lows. Talk about a crash course in emotional regulation.

So yes, this was my state of mind as we were attempting our first overnight, an uneasy prospect for someone who still occasionally panics in elevators. It would be a leap into the unknown - - haha sorry, side note giggle as I write this and think of my cutie patootie little friend Maya, one of my best friend’s daughters, who loves Frozen and has been known to say“I hear them calling me momma” — into the unknown - - I felt like I was venturing into the unknown.

Once we hit offshore and fluffed out our sails, we were on a lovely albeit, little out of the way trek towards our more southern destination Fernandina Beach, nestled on the Florida-Georgia Border. The day was spent napping, preparing for the night shifts to come. We had plenty of delicious leftovers from our Charleston feasts to sustain us. Before we knew it we were closing in on Savannah, gawking at 7 jaw-droppingly-huge container ships parked, awaiting their turn in port. As the sun began to set, they switched on their lights, shimmering like giant hotels in the middle of the ocean.

Night fell and the moon and stars emerged, Jupiter shining the brightest ahead of us, a benevolent planet if you follow astrology, a calming omen for my fluttering heart. The cold set in quickly, and Fajita and I swaddled ourselves in the warmth of blankets. Patrick diligently cycled on the propane heater, determined to keep the cockpit as warm as possible. We alternated our shifts, Patrick taking the first until around 12:30, then resuming around 3:00 and then my turn again at 5:30.

We both stayed in the cockpit, too nervous to leave each other alone. Sleeping on the cockpit benches is a lot like backpacking sleep, it’s more like resting with your eyes closed. Luckily the Dramimine induced a few short snoozes, not so much for Patrick. It was unsettling at first, the crescent moon provided limited illumination, you could only really see the red light of the cockpit compass, but you could hear the wind howling and feel it pushing the boat. We were flying through the dark, a vulnerable, slightly out-of-control feeling. Thankfully, we have a trustworthy auto pilot. Every 20 minutes my alarm would go off, I’d sit straight up scanning the horizon for anything that wasn’t a star, then frantically check the chart, wash, rinse, repeat until it was Patrick’s turn to take back the helm.

Finally we could see daybreak over the cresting waves. What a welcome sight. We were still hours away from our stop, but we had made it through our first overnight. Some of us a little worse for wear. We still have not managed to get Fajita to pee on the boat, unfortunately she holds it, so far as long as this sail which was 160 miles and 30 hours. We did eventually make it to the dock, getting her some relief, our confidence a boost, and our bodies the nice warm welcome of the Florida sun. - real time update we are one overnight sail away (which we will make on Jan 16) from Key Biscayne. There we will eagerly wait for our weather window to head to the Bahamas!!!

The tarot card I pulled for my meditation the morning of our overnight sail.