First Two Weeks with Helena (sailboat)

The past two weeks have passed with routine and a few moments of surprise. Every day we travelled about 13 hours, waking around 6 a.m., leaving our night anchorage by 6:30, and arriving at our next destination by 6 or 7 p.m. For a few days we had to travel 48 straight hours taking shifts staying up as we sailed through the night (someone must always be on watch day and night to make sure the boat doesn’t hit anything or get hit. Autopilot can handle the steering, but she can’t detect a fishing boat or an island.) It’s safer to stop at night, rest and start fresh in the morning. It’s been a lot like driving for days on end in a car without air-conditioning, but with a refrigerator.

During the time I read 7 books (I averaged an entire book over other day), watched dozens of Kevin’s movies and episodes of “Two and a Half Men” on his laptop and sat staring into the horizon thinking (and a lot of times not thinking about anything and just staring).

The weather was good, but the wind wasn’t. Over two weeks and hundreds of miles we only sailed without the motor running for three hours. The droning of the motor was always competing with the iPod music playing over the speakers (graciously Kevin lets me be DJ).

Some days the heat really got to me, or maybe it was the constant rocking mixed with the heat…as was the case on Saturday April 17 when I wrote in my journal:

“A film of perspiration covers my face, back, and underarms. My hair is pulled back in a bun and a headband is holding back the hairs that were sticking to my neck and forehead a minute ago. I smell like spent deodorant (that smells like rubbing alcohol and plastic before it’s even rubbed on), sweaty skin and day old laundry. I don’t know which is worse the way I look or feel.

There is a deep throbbing that starts in the back of my head and runs around to my temples squeezing my scalp and threatening to pop the crown of my head off and my eyeballs out of their sockets if I don’t apply pressure.

I’ve been lying on the couch for the past eight hours, thirsty for the occasional breeze that come down through the hatch window (a window that opens from the deck down into the cabin, so when I look up through it I can see the sky and the main mast).

My bladder needs emptied, but I’m avoiding getting up and afraid the smell of urine (I’m always dehydrated), mixed with my headache and the persistent rocking motion of the boat will make me vomit.”

The days weren’t all easy or hard. They were a mix of excitement, relaxation, boredom, frustration, fear, and gratitude.

Among the mundane and boredom there were moments of magic.

On a handful of occasions dolphins decided to pay a visit. They like to play with the boat’s bow wave (The bow is the front of the boat and the “bow wave” is the wave created by the boat driving through the water.). Their grey slick bodies torpedoed through the water jumping and laughing. I would stand watch until the last dolphin made his exit before returning to the shade of the cabin or the stern (back of the boat).

The dolphins and books could entertain by day, but at night the sunset and stars took center stage. Pink and orange slashed across the canvas sky and when the final rosy tints faded the stars would come out. They emerged one at a time at first and then the whole sky was polluted with their hazy glow. The moon in all her glory was smiling on.

Most of the time was empty and my thoughts had plenty of space to run rampant. I thought about everything, many repeats that have plagued my mind for years, new ideas and forgotten dreams. I wondered what friends and family were doing and I imagined our conversations.

I handled the situation the best I could. I tried to harness my restlessness, motivate myself when boredom had wasted me away to a pile of goo, and remain appreciative for this opportunity even when I felt like my head was going to explode.