DESPITE IT ALL

The Good Outweighs the Bad.

J’s note: This story was written In December of 2023 after navigating the rough waters off of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. Cape Hatteras is commonly known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic for a reason and it certainly seems to be our nemesis on here on Steadfast. Of the dozen or so times I have rounded that ship-wreck-strewn section of ocean, only once has it been benign. That day it was a mirror, which even Captain Steve didn’t think ever happened in those coordinates; he has rounded that peninsula seventy-plus times. It wasn’t a mirror for long, but as we rounded, it was a mirror.

Even the dolphins were celebrating a calm day off Cape Hatteras.

All the other times, Mother Nature has tested our skill, our resolve, and our equipment off Cape Hatteras. Last June 2^nd our Main Spar failed and you can read all about that in the May/June 2024 edition of WoodenBoat magazine, on shelves now or at https://woodenboat.com/issue/298/repairing-steadfasts-mast. Sooner or later, I’ll tell you that story here, too, so you might as well subscribe and stay aboard while we are SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE.

DESPITE IT ALL

The Good Outweighs the Bad.

Despite it all. Despite the expensive pulsating electronic gadget attached to my wrist. Despite all the precautions I could think of. Despite the Bonine (I buy the generic, meclizine, in a pack of 300), the ginger ale, the crackers, and the pretzel rods (a remedy from my youth). Despite trying to never look down. Despite my whole mind and soul fighting with everything they had. Despite it all I am emptying the meager contents of my stomach onto our teak deck and into the frothy, energetic Western North Atlantic. The jumps, turns and reversals of the confused seas beyond our rail only exacerbate the problem and I cannot decide whether to close my eyes or just breathe. I try returning my gaze to where the horizon line should be. 

I know there is a horizon out there, but the inky blackness gives no hint of the difference between sea and sky. It is all one dense, damp, shifting, slightly threatening blackness. There is an eerie reflection of our navigation lights on the writhing white crest of each bow wave. Or is it the starlight? My unsteady state does not allow me to make a decision as to the source of that particular glow at this particular time, and I stand swaying in the doorway of the pilothouse, trying to regain both my balance and a scrap of dignity. I breathe deep, long yoga breaths, six count in, six count out; forcing all the stale air from my lungs. My twenty years of practice recognize those breaths as a powerful, comforting force that works to calm stomach, brain and angst at the fact that, despite my best efforts, the sea has once again proven more powerful than I. Much more powerful.

Mother Nature then sends me her next jab, a set of three waves, much bigger than the five foot swell and they lift, then drop the bow suddenly toward the floor of the ocean. From the crest of the wave to the bottom of the trough, perhaps twelve feet total, the gravity pulls us down with stunning speed and power. Our just-repaired wooden main spar shudders just a bit, and then Steadfast plows through without hesitation, without strain, and the first wave flows over her protective toe rail, washing the deck clean, erasing all evidence of my malaise. 

My therapeutic breathing continues until the chill of the December wind inspires me to slide the pilothouse door shut. The clean air on my skin and in my lungs has awakened me once again to the beauty of my situation, and I climb back up on the high teak bench behind the helm, checking our position and the speed of the wind, the shore, and anything around me that might need to be adjusted for. 

Adjusting the course, the calendar, and our very lives, comes naturally when you live on a boat. A change of direction allows us to stay safe, allows us to work in rhythm with Mother Nature rather than against her as the powerboats do. We do our best to use the winds and currents to propel us, and that describes it much more romantically than any sailor would. Most of the time the wind originates in the wrong direction, is either too strong or too weak, or, combined with all the other forces out here, is creating those confused seas that throw off my equilibrium.

Despite it all, I wouldn’t trade this life for any other. If in doubt, see the first two photos in this story. The good outweighs the bad.

For more on inky blackness see my post DARK DARK on March 30, 2024 here: https://janiceannewheeler.substack.com/p/dark-dark

If you enjoyed this perspective, please click that indication below, and as always feel free to leave a comment; I read and enjoy all feedback, the more creative and interesting the better!