To the end of the Earth & Beyond
I had woken just around 2:00am upon hearing a loud bang. I had been midst shallow sleep, it seems most sleeping on a boat underway is shallow, unlike the water you lay your head to rest on. I had been dreaming of going on a journey with friends, it was like a sleepover on a big old barge, and I was having the time of my life right up until the resounding "BOOM!" when we hit something, possibly a whale, I imagined.
Reality was not as dramatic, they had just jibed, when you cross the wind when its at your back, so the boom I heard, was the boom itself, shifting loudly from one side of the boat to the other! The boom, for those who don't know, is that big sticking out thing that is at the base of the main sail. The main sail, for those who don't know, is that sail attached to the mast, the big pillar sticking out of the mid section of the boat. Yes, I had quite the time learning all those terms when we first bought our boat in Hong Kong...speaking of which, we just say another Lagoon 450f catamaran in the marina here in Vigo, Spain and I was in shock that it was so enormous! I guess, seeing it from above, on the pier, where it was moored on the water some 30 feet below, it was quite a sizeable vessel! Damn, we used to sail one of those! Heck, we used to live on one of those!
Anyway, back to the boom that woke me, at about the same time as I tried to orient myself as I sat bolt upright in bed, I heard my youngest son stumble into the bathroom that is shared between our two cabins, and he was asking for a bucket as he was going to be sick, the poor lad had been struggling bad with seasickness. Of the lot of us, Micah, our youngest, had been struggling the worst.
I squatted with him on the bathroom floor, as the boat pitched violently from side to side at what seemed like an insane speed, he was hanging on to a railing with one hand and the bucket with the other, puking his little guts up, and I had one hand on his shoulder and another on a railing. You aren't supposed to rub someone's back when they puke, it stimulates them to puke even more, so a gentle pat on the back is likely better, this much I remembered as I clung to the railing and to him in the dark of the small bathroom.
I eventually took him to lie down in the lookout space, pillow and blankets at the ready, as my husband, exhausted from his 8pm-2am shift, hand steering at the helm, was still checking voltage on batteries to determine the reason why the autopilot had stopped working.
In the end, I sent him to bed and I stayed up with the Skipper at the helm, outside in the "bathtub" (as my husband calls it) the safe space outdoors where the steering wheel is. We have a steering wheel indoors as well as outdoors, but when sailing, you kinda want to be able to trim sails or furl them without having to move too far.
"Welcome to the world of hand steering!" Roman proclaimed loudly over the din of the crashing waves and howling wind. "You know, any delivery, I always charge double for hand steering because so much more is needed, you kinda need a full crew otherwise its simply too much that can go wrong..." he trailed off...Damn, that was comforting to hear! I turned up the collar on my wet weather gear and faced forward, wide awake with anxiety by this point.
Well, without saying much more, we sat quietly in the safe space of the helm outdoors, gazing around from time to time, I had to marvel at the stars that stretched from horizon to horizon, feeling like I was at the epicentre of a snow globe right after it had been tipped upside down and then righted. The only unnatural light visible was the one coming from the display screen of our radar panel.
I could see the brightest and the tiniest stars, the Milky Way, and the most incredible Prussian Blue-black sky, that felt so close you could almost touch it. So much beauty that it almost takes your breath away. You feel infinitely small in circumstances like these, the majesty of the entire universe before you, a mere speck of dust in the cosmos and in the vast expanse of time.
Roman taught me how to hand steer the boat and how to navigate by the stars. "You see those four stars there? On the horizon? Just sail towards them, ensuring they remain almost midway between the mast and the mainstay in your view...and feel the boat, if she is trying to pull you, you turn the opposite way to adjust, if she tries to push you, again, turn to counter that. Essentially, that is what the autopilot does too!" And so I steered for the first time, under the night sky, peering out at the four stars amongst millions, the pan handle, as they are known, until they began to get lower and lower in the sky and I had to stand on my toes, eventually perching higher on the seating space in front of the wheel.
Somewhere in the inky emptiness all around us, Roman spotted something on the radar. He went inside the boat to check on the larger screen before coming back and asking me, "You want the good news or the bad news first?" I asked for the bad news, I always want the bad news first, it helps to then get lifted up with the good. The bad news, it turned out, was that we had a ship headed towards us. The good news was we'd clear it by about 500m. So then he taught me about the lights on vessels at night, port side, red, starboard side, green, aft lights and then some. Once we passed the ship, we even saw shooting stars in the sky. Honestly, for what could have been a fairly hairy experience, I would say it was the most enjoyable learning opportunity of my life yet.
Eventually we switched to me steering towards Saturn which was to the right of Jupiter. I helped with tidying up ropes, tightening slack sails, and generally came to appreciate being tethered to the boat without fear of getting lost at sea. Its all been an incredible journey so far. Everything from not being able to shower for days, wearing full cold/wet weather gear, beanies and headlamps, all pretty darn cool!
I finally took a pee break around 5:30am, when I returned, I noted that the horizon began to lighten. All the stars were still visible but the sky was no longer dark, it was a milky gray-blue...I looked at the compass to figure out which direction was east and it was kinda at our 7 o'clock, behind us. By this point I had handed the helm back to Roman, so I was free to keep my eyes fixed on the horizon behind us to the east. Seeing the sky slowly light up as we motored under sails, another incredible sight I am sure I will never tire of. I have seen more sunrises and sunsets in this past week alone that I know exactly how precious it is that we are on this journey.
Sunsets are no longer an experience for a special occasion in a lucky location...its how we say goodbye to the end of every day. I am not taking any of it for granted. Watching the sky go from a pale blue into dusky colours of pastel pink and purple...its just the most peaceful feeling that you get to breathe it all in. The same can be seen as the sun slowly rises. I managed to rustle up sandwiches with the fresh bread we made in our new bread maker, and I chowed down on the shared meal as the skipper and I sat there watching the stars slowly fade away and the sky begin to glow faintly with pastel hues of pink and blue. Another sunrise, what a day!
Its been days upon days like this. Our journey from the Netherlands to France was a mere 2.5days, and although we had initially planned on sailing non-stop to Spain, we had to detour to Cherbourg in France because we realized that the kids were simply too sea sick to realistically keep going without stopping. Crossing the Bay of Biscay is pretty treacherous if the weather is bad, the winds can get quite unforgiving and even the most hardened seaman can end up feeling green in the gills.
Cherbourg was a welcome pit stop, I will say that. We had no idea that we arrived on Bastille Day, so as we sat in the Marina, after having showered and eaten, we were treated to an incredible fireworks display that reflected hauntingly on the water all around us. That was a late night to bed, but with little else to do than catch up on lost sleep, it didn't matter much.
We left the next day towards Vigo, Spain, and that is when, midway through what was expected to be a 6-7 day journey, our autopilot failed. This in turn caused us to divert to La Coruña in Galicia, the city that was the regional administrative centre of the Kingdom of Galicia before 1982, when it was replaced by city of Santiago de Compostela. I felt like I was so close...and yet so far.
Many of you may or may not know that I have always dreamed of walking El Camino de Santiago, The Way of Saint James, a pilgrimage that starts in France and ends at Finisterre, Spain. Its an almost 850km journey done, traditionally, on foot. I believe that pilgrims who want to get certified as having done the journey can do so for no less than 150km of The Way. Initially I was keen to join my friends Jonah & Thomas when they walked El Camino, some years ago, prior to my 40th birthday. But sadly, that never happened as life got in the way. It would have taken us about 10 weeks, or thereabouts...I planned again, I bought the books, I was so ready, and then I opened the restaurant and once again, life got in the way.
It feels surreal to be in Spain, it felt surreal being in La Coruña as we sailed past the finishing point of El Camino de Santiago, which many believe in at the church in Compostela but really is at the Cape of Finisterre, which literally translates as "the end of the Earth". I was able to see land from the sea, but I didn't get to set foot on that piece of Spain just yet. I know that next year, I will take 10 days and walk the final 150km of El Camino, within Spain, as we head away from the Mediterranean on our journey across the Atlantic to The Caribbean. We intend on taking two summers and a winter in The Med, most of it day sailing, as we learn to feel comfortable in our skills and to get our children to a place of competence of being able to assist us as well as rescue us should something go wrong. Once we are confident, we will cross over to the islands of the Caribbean next December or so. That journey will be at least 17 days of sailing non-stop, which will put our current run of 4.5days (from France to La Coruña) to shame. I am sure, by then, we will be ready for anything.
Our journey so far has been eventful and we've had a chance to learn how to fix many of the problems we encountered. From the autopilot not working to overflowing diesel tanks, we figured it all out. Somewhere on the Bay of Biscay we ended up getting a long tangle of sea weed caught in our propeller, and this prompted us to cease using the engine and just rely on our sails for two days straight, journeying on wind alone, in the hopes that the seaweed would disentangle as we continued forward through the choppy waters. We believe that this is why the autopilot stopped working later because the batteries for the system are charged when the engines run, and us not running the engines had simply drained the batteries. Small problems with big implications. Autopilot allows you to plot a course and then the boat corrects itself as it maintains the set course, under sails, leaving you free to adjust as you see fit without also worrying about letting go of the steering wheel. It also means that if you need to go pee, you can, without worrying you'll head off in circles or end up in a completely different spot when you return.
Our sail through the vast expanse of the Bay of Biscay was actually very peaceful for the most part. The winds were favourable, for the most part, at our backs. We came across a pod of dolphins during the calm part of our journey, a first for all of us and truly a phenomenally fortuitous sight to behold. I recall going diving in The Maldives and being on a live-aboard, a clunky old diesel run vessel, the skipper there had spoken of dolphins and although we saw huge mantas and an insane number of sharks when we dived, we never encountered dolphins, so I was ecstatic to witness the quintessential "dolphins swimming with your boat" moments that we experienced.
The winds picked up quite drastically towards the last few days of our journey, and I recall feeling rather helpless as we sailed, our boat at something like a 145 degree angle for hours on end. Cooking a meal became an impossible plan as we settled for fresh baked bread and vegan cream cheese instead. That bread maker has turned out to be the most valuable investment yet, and I have no doubt it will be one we are truly grateful for in the months and years to come. I haven't eaten this much bread in years!
When you are underway, through night and day, its hard to get a decent sleep, its impossible to shower, and its a challenge keeping your food on the table, let alone in your guts! Once you reach dry land, you spend a day feeling like the earth beneath your feet is going to list endlessly and your have a hard time not hanging on to a wall or such because your brain tricks you into dizziness.
I write this as we refill our water tanks in the Marina in Vigo, the final drop off point for Roman, from here we go our separate ways. He's been a patient and kind teacher, a "Captain Ron" character of sorts, regaling us with stories of past mishaps and adventures, and truly, we have grown to like him for his humour and his humanity. We were quite fortunate to have found him, the upside of connecting with strangers on social media.
Today we leave Vigo for Bayonne, Spain. Today we also finally begin our kids home schooling in earnest. Now that everyone is over their sea sickness and have adjusted to life on the water, and also now that from here on in, its going to be mostly day-sailing around The Med until we get to Gibraltar, which we estimate to be no more than a 2 day-2 night sail, manageable between my husband and I, now that I know how to man the helm alone and that our autopilot is functional...I think its all going to go okay, not because I know for sure, its because I know no matter what life brings our way, we will see it through.
What a life, eh? So much to be grateful for, so much to marvel at, and so much yet to encounter.
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