Sea-Prises
09 November 2011 | 3 weeks post-cruising
Dede - from home
With the hindsight of three weeks back on land and happily nesting at home, net overall I would give my summer cruising stint a 65. Depending upon the metric, this is almost a super majority or barely a passing grade. Either way it does suggest that I thought roughly two-thirds of the time our experience was worthwhile - and at times even exceptional - which is not so bad given that I was living in a space one-tenth the size of my home. It means I see more cruising in my future, but not back to the cold, wet Northeast. I am thinking it IS better in the Bahamas.
In fact, the downside 35 is almost exclusively attributable to our substandard weather. We left Florida for a break from the heat...and we surely got it. After leaving Naples on August 5th , I wore a bathing suit exactly once and shorts and skirts were also a rarity. As I scan our 700 plus photos, I am amazed to see how often I am captured dressed in layer-upon-layer bundled in the cockpit. Yes, I know we were in Maine, but come on, it WAS summah. Actually, our very coldest sailing conditions were as far south as North Carolina; that's when I had on the thermals and ear-warmers. Not quite the break from the heat we envisioned. In the end though, while the cold was disappointing, it was REALLY the frequent long stretches of WETTTTTT that were dispiriting. I just never got used to everything I touched being salt-encrusted and limp. I never adjusted to the slight drip, drip, drip of the hatch in the master head which invariably left a puddle to step over each time I took care of my business. Eventually as the months passed I did learn to fret less about what was of course out of my control, out of anyone's control, but less fretting does not mean less feeling, and I never overcame the deep ache in every joint when the barometric pressure plummeted. Yes, the weather had her way with me even down to the biggest meteorological irony of all: we left Florida to escape the hurricanes only to end up squarely contending with two (Irene and Katia), all while Naples stood unscathed. OK, so maybe our summer was a 60.
Putting weather aside though, our summer cruising certainly did have its upside; it certainly held some unforgettable "seaprises". For me, far-and-away the most notable were our great bike rides (i.e. getting off the boat) through enchanting coastal towns (especially the Maine Coast, Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard) and the heart-warming visits along the way with family and friends. In particular, it was awesome to be able to spend a good chunk of August with Katie as she met us week-after-week in nearby ports. Additionally, while our land time was priceless, I will also long remember a number of truly perfect sailing days when the conditions were ideal and the scenery was pure, unrivaled magic. These were the fabled experiences I have often written about - the people, the places, the sailing - that we had envisioned and hoped for and, when granted, were rare enough that I can honestly say, we fully embraced and savored them. These are the ones that are easily captured in photos, retained in rosy-retrospective memory and colorfully embellished and enthusiastically shared at cocktail parties. They are the obvious highlights.
But there were also seaprises of the more personal, subtle, intangible and unanticipated variety. For instance, I never knew I could spend day after day in foul weather gear. I never knew how many combos of sweats and tee's were possible or how naturally curly my hair really is. Or that I am actually a pretty content slug (that constant rocking provides adequate core exercise, right?). I was seaprised to also learn that when stressed (and somebody else is around to take charge) I detach and become an ostrich. That is, if the sea conditions were either too wet, too boring or too scary, I retreated inside and effectively burrowed, reading a half-dozen books, writing blog posts and spending long, slow internet hours posting photos (and, to the Captain's seaprise, without any seasickness). I see that all-in-all I am quite a good adaptor. Indeed, I have a renewed confidence, bloated as it may be, that I can do just about anything for a limited amount of time (how long will we be banging in the waves today, honey?).....Maybe it was more like a 55.
Yes, overall it was a pretty good summer; I only full-on cried twice. Heck, as a fifty-something menopausal woman I would have probably done that in the comforts of my climate-controlled home. I do however question why I concealed these two self-pity parties from the Captain. Was I concerned to be seen as a sea wimp or alternatively as a spoil-sport putting a damper on the Captain's sacred dream? Or was it sea-wisdom sagaciously revealing that "you do not bite the hand that steers you!" Being reliant as I indisputably was on my competent Captain for my very survival in a way far exceeding our everyday existence in suburbia, well how shall I say this, the pragmatic wife-crew cuts her husband-captain some real marital slack.
But low and behold, in resisting my knee-jerk response to dump on my husband, an interesting and unforeseen seaprise surfaced. At some vague midway point in our adventures it truly just dawned on me, duh, as if by divine revelation that the travails of sailing really are not his fault. As with all life, cruising comes with much promise but no guarantee. Rain happens (and drizzle and fog and humidity and....) - and it's not his fault; Cold happens - and it's not his fault; Hatches leak - and it's not his fault!; Salt slimes, films and coats making everything slippery - and it's not his fault; Bumps and bruises and cuts happen - and they're not ....you've got the point... So even if our summer was only a 50, he who was genuinely grateful for my on board companionship (if not my sailing skills) and who, more than anything, wanted me to have a positive cruising experience, was actually doing the very best he possibly could to provide that; the rest, plain and simple, was just happenstance - really, really. When I stopped looking for the flaws in cruising and gave up my compulsion to assign blame, I somehow realized and accepted it was just what was - no villain, no conspiracy. Yes, I miraculously just got off it.
This small but significant shift - dare I say sea change - I now realize was largely due to a most unexpected seaprise: the blessed blog, which so many times soothed my soul and filled the space until the tears dried, the bruise heeled and sun shone. Who knew I would take to writing as I did and how cathartic it would be? What I lacked in physical space, the blog provided me in emotional room. Losing myself in writing granted me interiorly the "alone time" I so craved but could not achieve exteriorly in our cramped, nowhere-to-hide confides. It gave me a vehicle for self-expression to vent and share and process. I say, in essence, my regular blog-cleansing flushed out potential relationship toxins, ultimately clearing the way for the sweetest seaprise of the summer. Rather than our 24/7 tight-quarters existence generating marital rift between me and my man, the isolation, remoteness and co-dependence (in the good way) of our cruising lifestyle actually served to strengthen our bond. It forged a kind of do-it-ourselves empowerment akin to newlyweds - a feeling of him & me against the world. It reinforced how much simple, easy enjoyment we can create, all by our little selves, in each other's familiar company. It reminded us why after 30 years we would still rather be with each other than anyone else, even if it is in a compact, wobbly 400 sq ft. He is the one I want in my foxhole....and on my love boat.
I set out on this journey three months ago as neither a writer nor a sailor. My husband in his playful wisecrack fashion quips that at least I progressed in one arena. But without the writing, dear Captain, the sailing might have been a moot point as I may have jumped ship a long time ago... and missed out on all of the these seaprises.
Maybe next trip, if it's drier and warmer, I might actually take on some sailing.