As I sit here on the smooth leathery
white cushions and shiny waxed table in the salon of SV Zoe writing
this on our last day at sea, I have mixed feelings about our arrival
into our touchdown point of French Polynesia, Hiva Oa Island of the
Marquesas Islands. We have less than 150 miles until that anchor is
dropped (our spare anchor that is since we accidentally donated our
nice, shiny, new anchor to Neptune our first week of the passage, big
oops!)
I have always wanted to visit French
Polynesia, the white sand beaches, swaying palm trees in the
foreground with blue lagoons against the luscious green green cliffed
background, pearls, rum, ukeleles, tattoos . . . of course I am very
excited for French Polynesia! I am also just loving being at sea and
not sure I am ready to give up the endless miles of visible ocean,
the encapsulating black sky with millions of stars sparkling from
horizon to horizon, making fresh bread before sunrise each morning
and napping on the spinnaker bag, aka my lounge chair, on the
foredeck while the large sail overhead takes little puffs of fresh
air and flying fish buzz around me. It's a beautiful life out at sea.
A life that I am surely thankful has been opened to my eyes!
Janna
Cawrse Esarey
documents
her
and her newlywed husbands sailing journey around the world in her
book the Motion of
the Ocean. They
sail this exact same passage from the Galapagos to the Marquesas and
she has a paragraph that sums up these emotions pretty perfectly:
The
weirdest thing about being out here is the push-pull of emotions. On
the one hand, I'll admit it, there is a fervent desire to get to the
other side. I can't help it. We count off miles like kids in the
backseat- “Are we there yet?” But who can blame us? There is
something mildly enticing about what we're heading for: tropical
beaches, physical safety, living creatures besides weevils (and
cockroaches!) On
the other hand, though, there's this electric feeling of freedom out
here. It jolts me at the oddest moments- while popping popcorn on
night watch, while looking out the bathroom porthole at rushing
water, while slathering on sunblock for the umpteenth time. This is
it! We're living our dream! This is what sailing to the South Pacific
sounds and smells and looks and feels like! Who knew?
It has been a truly beautiful crossing of the Pacific Ocean. Who
knew? ;) I would venture to say that this passage was magical.
Although it didn't start off so magical. I was incredibly sea sick
for the first 6 days of the passage (minus our very first day where I
think I was just too excited to notice). It was pretty miserable. It
also did not help that our first 5 days at sea were ridiculously
rolling seas, I would compare it to feeling like you were in a
washing machine, only with LARGE waves. I still managed to cook
dinner every night and would be rousted for my night watches at 3am
and somehow crawl up to the cockpit and just lie, nauseously watching
the horizon and feeding the fish from time to time (in not the most
pleasant manner :-/ ). But I have to admit, Kelsey and I had the best
watches, that 3am roust was totally worth it!
Kelsey
and I shared our watches from 5am – 9pm and 3am – 7am, we got
both sunset AND sunrise ;) As we moved West, we kept these times so
that we could keep our sunset, sunrise watch schedule. Every night I
would start cooking when our watch started, Kelsey would make the
salad, and we would eat at sunset, most of the time followed by a
dessert of some kind (we have a lot of time on our hands and a
Captain who loves chocolate ;) Then I would watch Jupiter and Venus
rise from the sunset, that is when the tea would come out and Venus
would cast her glow onto the glistening water. I would gaze in
amazement of the sparkling show overhead until it was time for my nap
at 9pm. Six hours later would come the roust. The tea kettle would
whistle us awake and the nutella would come out (motivation for
getting out of bed at 3am ;) Watching the red moon rise was also
motivation to get out of bed, and by this time, the Southern Cross
constellation was showing all it's glory as well. The Crosby Stills
and Nash song, Southern
Cross, now holds a
very special place in my heart ;) I showered every(other) morning
(come on, there is NO dirt out here) with the sunrise and fresh bread
baking in the oven. At 7am, and my lips still warm from fresh bread,
George would come up with coffee in hand to start his morning watch
and I would retreat to my little nest for a morning siesta with the
entire day free until 5pm.
Those night watches were truly magical. Just me (and Kelsey) with the
wide ocean, the stars, and my thoughts. I had a lot of time to let my
thoughts swirl around those stars and it is beautiful where your mind
adventures to when you have the space and time to let it go. There is
a special poem that has captured this magic on the sea beautifully
and I'd love to share it since it has made it's way into my heart on
this passage.
“The Philosophy of the Sea and Stars” by Matthew Arnold
Weary of
myself, and sick of asking
What I am,
and what I ought to be,
At the
vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards,
forwards, o'er the star-lit sea.
And a look of
passionate desire
O'er the sea
and to the stars I send:
'Ye who from
my childhood up have calm'd me,
Calm me, ah,
compose me to the end.'
'Ah, once
more' I cried, 'Ye Stars, Ye Waters,
Oh my heart
your mighty charm renew:
Still, still,
let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul
becoming vast like you.'
From the
intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit
sea's unquiet way,
In the
rustling night-air came the answer-
'Wouldst
thou be as
these are? live
as
they.
'Unaffrightened by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
'And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-sliver'd roll.
For alone they live, not pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.
'Bounded by themselves, and unobservant
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.'
O air-born Voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in my own heart I hear.
'Resolve to be thyself: and know, that he
Who finds himself, loses his misery.'
So, here I sit, with my air born voice again and hearing my heart,
not quite ready to disembark from the simple life at sea. But excited
for what that anchor in French Polynesia will bring as well!
I
also want to be clear, and I will be the first to admit, that it is
not all starry starry nights and poetry out as sea either. I have
learned clearly that there is nothing glamourous about living on a
sailboat. Even going to the bathroom is a workout: balancing while
you sit in a jostling little closet with a toilet while holding the
door from swinging open with the next large wave. My right arm is
getting more muscular from pumping the toilet 30 times to flush and I
am pretty sure I am now oblivious to the smell of rotting sea
creatures that have viciously swam their way into our pipes. Sharing
a space of 47 feet long with 4 people comes with it's challenges as
well, as can be imagined ;) Our anchor that is sitting 20,000 leagues
under the sea would say that we didn't get through the gauntlet
unscathed either. There was that one time we dropped the spinnaker
into the water at night and ran it over, getting the entire parachute
sail stuck under the keel, with lines all of sorts dragging in the
water. That was fun :-/ And we woke up a few mornings ago with a
blood or ink like substance splattered all over the front 3rd
of the boat, still an unsolved mystery. There was also my break down
point when I hadn't showered for 2 days and couldn't get the water on
the swim step to come out, leading to me hunched over with tears in
the moonlight, only for Kelsey to calmly discover that it was just a
kink in the hose and the water was running perfectly. Embarrassing
but I think those tears were needed at the time. We also had quite a
few days of no wind and our brains shaking from the motor running,
reminiscent of our doldrum days, and as Samuel Taylor Coleridge said
in The Rime of
the Ancient Mariner,
we were “idle as a painted ship on a painted ocean.”
But, all in all, we will have completed this 3,300 nautical mile
journey across the Pacific Ocean and be able to say it was beautiful.
