On March 11th, 2000, I flew from Denver, Colorado to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida where I would depart on a 7-8 day sailing trip to deliver a racing yacht to Puerto Rico. After spending Saturday, Sunday and part of Monday finalizing boat preparation and buying supplies, we set sail out of Ft. Lauderdale a little after noon on March 13th. At least it wasn't Friday the 13th. To say that I was apprehensive would be an understatement. As Ft. Lauderdale slowly sank below the distant horizon, the complete lunacy of my decision became shockingly clear. It would be over a week before I would see land, or any other human besides my 3 crew mates. If we needed anything besides what we brought with us on the boat - too bad.
I prioritized my objectives for the trip, and decided to put staying alive at the top of my list, closely followed by staying healthy. My two primary objectives were: 1) Don't fall overboard and 2) Don't get seasick. To help achieve the first objective, I maintained a death grip on any available piece of boat structure while above deck, and wore a safety harness whenever the seas were rough - which turned out to be the first 3 days of sailing. In an attempt at not getting seasick, I wore a motion sickness patch below my ear which was supposed to provide protection for 3 days. Unfortunately, it fell off sometime after day 1.
The forecast called for a 6-8 foot chop across the gulf stream, but we expected (at least I hoped for!) calmer seas after we crossed the gulf stream. This was not the case. At its worst, we had 12-15 foot seas with a 30 knot wind.
The first 3 days on the water is little more than a blur in my mind. Maybe it was confusion from the drug in the motion sickness patch, or sleep deprivation from our 3 hour on-3 hour off watch cycle, or panic from the conditions - whatever the reason - the first three days are little more than a confusing blur of disconnected events in my mind. Little more than a bad dream. I remember being constantly sprayed with salt water, and being tossed around the cabin like tennis shoes in a dryer. I remember trying to sleep, and realizing that I knew exactly how wet clothes in a washing machine felt. I remember sitting on the floor to get dressed, because if I tried to stand, I would just fall down anyway.
I remember sitting on deck and Mark asking me what I was thinking. My response was a meek "nothing," but I was really thinking "this is the dumbest damn thing I have ever done." The good news was that so far I hadn't got seasick. The bad news was that I had at least 5 more days on this damn boat that wouldn't stop violently trying to smash me to pieces. The closest I had come previously to this experience was a week and a half I spent in the hospital after a serious auto accident.
After 3 days of hell on water, just when I though it couldn't get any worse - it did. I hadn't been eating much, but after 3 days nature called and I needed to take a crap. Normally, I could just use the head (sailor talk for a toilet), but true to form, ours was broken. Who needs a head when you have a bucket? I'm a backpacker and have no problem crapping in the woods, so crapping in a bucket wasn't a big deal. The problem was carrying the bucket to the back of a bucking sailboat that was keeled sideways at an ungodly angle, without spilling the contents of the bucket. Somehow, I managed to crawl to the back of the boat, and dump and rinse the bucket, but on the crawl back to the cabin I hit my shin hard on a winch crank opening a 3 inch gash in my leg (OK, I just looked at the scar and it's only an inch long, but it sure looked like three at the time.) This really sucks!
Wounds and injuries are easy to come by on a sailboat in rough water. Brian, our Kiwi crew mate had already cracked a rib while trying to move around in the cabin. Scrapes and cuts refused to heal in the saltwater environment, and sitting on the hard deck in saltwater soaked clothes caused rashes and sores to develop in undesirable locations.
Somewhere around this time, I confessed to Mark: "I don't want to play sailor anymore!" Just when I had resigned myself to another 4-5 days of hell, life got better.
The seas got smoother, the skies became blue, and the sunsets blazed brilliant. Add a little caffeine from a couple of cups of coffee, and a couple of Heinekens, and life was good. One afternoon when I was sailing the boat in smooth water with nice winds, I realized for the first time how much fun sailing could be. Slicing through the wind and water at 8 plus knots, feeling the tug of the rudder in my hands, I spent a couple of hours sailing in a dream-like state. This was incredible.
Yea, we still had problems: our gauge panels would sometimes go out and we would have to set course with a star or compass for awhile, the head still didn't work, we were starting to run low on fresh water, we were motoring into the wind, we barely had enough diesel fuel, and Mark was having trouble with the radio, but hey, we weren't sitting in some damn cubicle wasting the day away.
The seas were now calm enough that I could get out the camera gear and make some pictures. The sunsets and sunrises were eagerly anticipated events that rarely disappointed. I had adjusted to the 3 hour shifts and actually woke up sometimes before my time to go on watch. Mark was able to cook meals and the food tasted good. I took the opportunity one afternoon in the hot sun to take a saltwater bath on the back of the boat and it felt great. We began sharing a bottle of wine on our sunset shift, and we were getting closer to land, life really was good.
Our last night on the water we saw the most spectacular sunset of the entire trip, followed shortly afterward by an amazing moon rise. The moon was so big and so red it looked more like a sunrise. A few minutes before sunrise on March 21st, we threaded our way into Marina Puerto Del Rey, and docked the boat. I don't know what I appreciated most: stuff that didn't move, the toilet, running hot water that contained no salt, or the cold Coke.
After this trip, I was mentally and physically drained. A week later I still couldn't sleep through the night, and frequently woke up thinking I was on a boat. I was talking to a boat captain in the bar my last night in Puerto Rico, and he told me about two guys who started out to sail from Ft. Lauderdale to Puerto Rico. About half way through the trip, one guy flipped out and just stayed below deck mumbling to himself. The second guy headed for a port where he got the boat stuck on a sand bar before getting to shore to call for help. The boat captain I was talking too flew in from Ft. Lauderdale to complete the trip. I felt a little proud of myself, but was also a little shaken up; it would be all too easy to get into serious trouble on a trip like the one we had just completed.
Would I do it again? I don't know, let me think about it. One thing for sure, I have a whole new respect for sailing.
