But don’t let fear of bugs stunt your adventure! Knowing the realities versus hearsay and being ready with precautions and remedies before the critters come winging your way is a huge help. The Admirals, as they say, have been there, done that, and below are their tips.

Before we enumerate a long list, in reality bug issues won’t likely be as bad as it may end up sounding. Problems are occasional, not everyday. Simple precautions, along with actions taken promptly, nip in the bud quickly what does come up.

There are actually bugs we enjoy.

Butterflies flitting over the water are a delightful surprise from Mother Nature. Likewise dragonflies, resting on a lifeline, are fascinating to examine… plus they eat mosquitoes and no-see-ums. Moths, drawn after dark into cockpit and cabin by electric lights, may edge toward irritating as they flutter between you and your book, but no harm’s done.

A more alarming nighttime visitor in the tropics can be a swarm of flying termites.

Like a horror movie, they stream in through an opening, before committing hari kari en masse. When it happened to us, we sucked up every body and wing with a vacuum, but I worried about infestation for years after. Internet articles say, however, that such swarming termites are usually colonizing “kings and queens” without the destructive “workers.” Wish I’d know THAT ten years ago!

However, drywood termites, the usual kind that cause trouble with boats, not only cause serious damage to wooden interiors, cores, or hulls, but can create issues with entry into certain countries like Australia. They typically get aboard from an infested boat nearby. Signs are discarded wings and unexplained ‘sawdust’ that is actually termite poop. Quick action with topical or injected treatments can be enough, but unfortunately complete tenting is the ultimate solution.

Bugs we perceive as a threat to cleanliness are flies, ants, spiders and cockroaches, yet cleanliness aboard (no crumbs on counters or dirty dishes) is the first line of defense.

Flies seem to show up anywhere they choose.

They are most commonly the result of poor garbage control (either yours, the nearest town’s, or Mother Nature’s!). Old-fashioned swatting or modern zapping with electric Racket Zappers are the most sporting methods of control, but sticky fly-paper strips work well too. Put strips near where flies congregate or near “bait” like a bit of jam in a jar.

Ripening fruit seems to draw fruit flies out of thin air. Intercept them by washing fruit before bringing it below, then cover fruit with a mesh dome or round of netting weighted along the edge. Stalks of bananas are best dipped right in seawater to urge bugs of all kinds, including spiders, to miss the cruise.

Since ants, spiders, and cockroaches can walk aboard, they’re often a byproduct of visits to marinas or boatyards.

For the walk-ons, putting aromatic spices – like cayenne pepper – on your dock lines discourages new arrivals. Roaches can also come aboard in cardboard, especially corrugated. Cruisers quickly learn to divest themselves of packaging materials before reaching the boat. One couple I knew undressed everything into Ziploc bags before leaving the supermarket!

If crawlies get aboard, act promptly before things get out of control. Major fumigations, bombs or industrial sprays are harder on the humans than the bugs. The most recommended counterattack for ants is Terro Ant Poison; for cockroaches, Boric Acid and Combat Traps or Gel.

Interestingly, temperatures over 120 degrees are said to be lethal to ants and cockroaches, perhaps one reason we don’t always find bugs when we might expect to after boatyard storage! Hard to be sure since we tend to go on the offensive with traps, sprays, Boric Acid and bug bombs prior to leaving our boats on the hard.

For pet owners, fleas are certainly an issue.

You may not find your monthly treatments in out of the way places, so bring enough with you to keep your pet flea free. It’s probably wise to bring sprays in the event you miss your schedule.

Another bug we carry aboard is the weevil lurking in flours and grains.

To prevent weevils from hatching are several home remedies: microwaving packages before stowing (this makes flour clumpy), adding a lump of dry ice, or stowing it in a canister or Ziploc with several bay leaves. If weevils hatch, either sieve them out or… consider them free protein in the day’s baking.

Nobody likes to see stinging insects like bees or wasps fly aboard, but for those allergic, it can be serious.

Obviously, anyone with allergies should not go to sea without multiple sting kits. Many wasps have a sweet tooth, attracted by (but also caught by) things like empty soda cans. In Mexico, bees sometimes come seeking fresh water in a damp sink. A small bowl on the foredeck will draw them away from living spaces.

Finally we have the most irritating of flying pests – mosquitoes and sandflies – whose bites itch and become readily infected when scratched.

Worse, they can be a serious threat to cruisers’ health. In the tropics the nighttime mosquito Anopheles can carry malaria especially in non-urban areas, but it’s the daytime Aedes aegypti found everywhere that can deliver dengue fever. Even northerners now need to worry about mosquito-borne West Nile Virus. Plus, pesky sandflies (aka no-see-ums) not only wield monstrous bites, but they can carry Leishmaniasis, a parasitic disease that causes slow-to-heal skin sores and infections (occasionally much worse.)

Because of flying insects’ complicated threat, most Admirals have chosen to forgo anti-malarial drugs (and their complications) in favor of more comprehensive prevention. First and foremost is anchoring away from shore. All these pests have small territories and venture offshore only in the stillest of nights. For those nights, or nights upriver or in marinas, screens over portholes, hatches and companionways are essential.

Fitted screens, such as come with some modern production boats, are nice, but with a little creativity, it is easy to retrofit any boat. Several Admirals have external screens that fit over hatches “like showercaps” or with sewn weights around the edges or, most simply, squares of netting held down by a circle of rope. We had squares of screen edged with Velcro we could stick up from inside. Because screens cut down airflow, using interior fans to restore the breeze not only cools your sleep, but keeps whining bugs away. Flying bugs don’t like wind.

In the cockpit citronella candles and mosquito coils are useful (as are other aromatics like garlic, aromatic herbs, and catnip oil!). So is a portable fan.

Staying away from shore during intensely buggy times is best, but since we visit villages to experience their feasts and festivals, sometimes it can’t be helped. Off the boat, the best choice is to cover up completely and/or dose with DEET-based repellant. Both are a pain in the behind, but the alternatives are mighty bad. The more DEET, the more effective and the longer-lasting the protection (See Deet.com), but keep DEET insecticides away from important plastics like glasses, camera screens, watch faces and radio screens! When bugs are really thick, consider treating screens, awnings, hats, clothes, socks and backpacks with Permethrin, which will also kill ticks, chiggers, mites and more than 55 other bugs.

By stocking your onboard arsenal to the Admirals’ recommendations before leaving port, you should be fully equipped to keep bugs in line. In this area, preparation is worth a lot of cure!

Contributing Admirals: Mary Heckrotte, CAMRYKA; Karyn Ennor, MAGIC CARPET ; Bev Feiges, MV CLOVERLEAF; Sheri Schneider, PROCYON; Maribel Penichet, PAPER MOON; Katherine Briggs, SANGARIS; Mary Verlaque, I WANDA; Judy Knape, URSA MINOR; Ellen Sanpere, CAYENNE III

This article was published in the September 2010 issue of Latitudes and Attitudes.

The good news is my admirals assert that they are much healthier cruising than they were back home.  They attribute this to spending more time outdoors and less in crowded or enclosed spaces, to being more active and having a better control of what they eat, and of course to living more stress-free lifestyles.  However, just as things do go wrong with the boat, no matter how careful our maintenance, things can and will go wrong with our bodies as well.

Some cruisers are more regimented in their preventive care while others wait for problems to crop up.  Most of us have been taught to maintain regular checkups, gynecological exams and mammograms, as well as, more generally, dental and eye exams.  Because of living so much in the sun, most cruisers add dermatological exams to that list.  Cruisers who migrate regularly back to their home base often schedule their checkups with their regular doctors. This has the advantage, particularly as you get older, of having someone who has a baseline on your health against which to plot changes, and it is particularly desirable, if you have a physician you like and trust, if you can arrange to communicate with him/her by email when issues come up.

But overseas cruisers who do not fly home or who do not have such long-term trust relationships usually choose to get checkups and care from local doctors as they need it.  It is probably true that in many of the countries we visit, the infrastructure of fancy offices and new equipment may not measure up to what we are used to.  But it is also true that most cruisers find they get just as good care as they would at home at a fraction of the cost and can even get great deals on elective surgeries like LASIK, tooth implants or cosmetic surgeries!  And guess what?  Sometimes the facilities and equipment are more advanced than back home!

Kathy of Hale Kai gets all her check-ups and tests done in the Caribbean.  “It’s easy to find the name of a good doctor through the cruising grapevine. A doctor’s visit generally costs about $20, the doctors aren’t in a hurry like they are in the US, plus they don’t delegate away as much of the work. You can even order tests that you want directly from a lab without always having to go through a doctor, and they, too, usually cost less.”  I personally can second that finding for Central America, Mexico, Polynesia and Fiji. To make things easier and more complete for foreign physicians, many cruisers, particularly those with ongoing conditions, carry an onboard file of recent tests, exams, or x-rays.

Lower costs for medical care lead some cruisers not to bother carrying medical insurance.  These uninsureds are usually younger (invincible!) folk, individuals on tighter budgets, or those who have Medicare to fall back on.  Regarding invincibility, a young cruising family we know recently had to air-evac out their eight-year old daughter for suspected appendicitis. The evacuation, the surgery, and the week’s stay in the hospital ended up costing them about $4000 after the hospital cut its bill in half.  The father figured that would have been about the cost of medical insurance for his family of four for a year.  But what if the hospital hadn’t cut their fees, or what if something else happens?

A majority of my Admirals do carry medical insurance.  Some are lucky and have health care coverage through their husband’s military benefits or through their own retirement packages.  A few purchase non-US insurance, such as the popular plan in Mexico for about $250 or similar plans in Europe.  However, most of the rest carry private insurance with high-deductibles conceived to protect them against catastrophic accidents or illnesses while paying for routine medical expenses out of their own pockets.  Two international policies popular with cruisers from IMG (www.imglobal.com) and IHI (www.ihi.com) cover cruisers inside and outside the US, although the premise is that you remain outside the US much of the year.  Wherever your coverage is from, be sure you understand the ramifications of your policy. For example, a typical domestic policy might only cover you outside the US for 60 days, while one of the cruising policies won’t let you be in the US for longer than six months.

Mary of I Wanda points out a curious plus of private insurance. “During our cruise, Christian was diagnosed with cancer (and successfully treated). Had we still been working, this would have ended our cruising dream, because once you have a serious condition you become uninsurable in the US. We would have had to continue working until we were eligible for Medicare — 27 years later!”

Many cruisers augment their insurance with very affordable DAN insurance (www.diversalertnetwork.com). Even for cruisers who don’t scuba dive, membership in DAN includes DAN TravelAssist, giving you up to $100,000 of evacuation assistance coverage.  It was DAN that covered and coordinated Randy of Procyon’s air evacuation from the Galapagos to Quito that I wrote about in this column in the January 2008 issue.

Of course there are many times when we cruisers are out of reach of shore-based medical care and must take care of ourselves.  First-aid courses and kits are a must, and some cruisers augment these further with EMT or wilderness medicine training. Most physicians in or out of the country will write prescriptions for drugs like antibiotics and painkillers that cruisers could need in offshore emergencies or remote situations.  “We do self-treat far more readily than we would if we lived in the US,” says Mary of Camryka from Panama, “keeping a supply of antibiotics, antihistamines, painkillers, treatment for dysentery, etc. and relying on our Merck Manual and other books such as Where There is No Doctor.”  Additionally, the HF radio, particularly Ham radio nets, become indispensable for seeking emergency help from volunteer physicians on call, particularly on passage.

There are several areas worthy of special attention for cruisers wanting to keep healthy in the tropics.  Keeping hydrated is important; dehydration can bring on urinary tract infections, contribute to kidney stone formation, exacerbate the effects of diarrhea and muck up body chemistry when scuba diving.  Another is protecting yourself from insect bites (and diseases they transmit like malaria or dengue) with protective clothing, screens,  and spray with DEET as well as treating bites promptly with sting-sticks or hydrocortisone cream so you don’t scratch.  Cuts, sores, blisters, scrapes and scratched bug-bites MUST be treated with topical antibiotics, covered with band-aids, and kept out of sea water (although sterile saline – boiled water with added salt—is good) to control rampant infections.  This past season in the Pacific, we have personally known a half-dozen cruisers struggling with infections, including two that had to be med-evac’ed out, and one who nearly lost his foot!   As a doctor in Fiji told my husband, “Americans hate to cover sores, but in the tropics, a bandage is a must.”

So, in the end, overseas cruisers find that health care is far less a preoccupation than they worried it might be.  Most first aid kits are tapped for little more than band-aids and antibiotics, and medical help is available when you need it.  Indeed, by the time you have some years of experience under your belt, you may find yourself preferring the simpler medical systems overseas to America’s McMansion medicine.

Contributing Admirals:  Kathy Parsons, Hale Kai; Katherine Briggs, Sangaris; Mary Verlaque, I Wanda, Mary Heckrotte, Camryka; Jane Kilburn, Lionheart;  Laura Bond, Bolero; Rachel, Ventana; Susan Richter, Wooden Shoe; Debbie Leisure, Illusions; Cindi Blondin, Tashmoo;  Ellen Sanpere, Cayenne III; Janet Garnier, and others.

This article was published in the January 2009 issue of Latitudes and Attitudes.

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Our friend got sick about a half hour out of Savusavu, and he pretty much stayed that way the whole nine days. He had not brought seasickness meds, and the only ones I could find aboard expired with the last century. In Futuna we borrowed some Australian tablets called Qwells, and they gave him a two-day respite in the rolly anchorage, but we weren’t underway an hour on our return when he was forced to take to the sea berth for the duration. Our friend says he hasn’t been seasick since he was 25. In the States, he has his own boat, plying the waters of the Gulf, the Intracoastal and the Chesapeake.

Seasickness stems from a mismatch in the brain between the motion information supplied by our eyes and our inner ears. Some people are more susceptible than others, and sometimes it’s just a matter of timing. I am one of those obnoxious people who don’t get seasick. I don’t say “never.” I’ve had headaches on occasion, and I once went two days on a brisk beam reach where I couldn’t go below to cook or work the radio as I usually do. But that’s once in thousands of sea miles. My husband Don regularly gets kind of quiet and unsmiling on the first day or two at sea and does not go below if he can help it. Our usual remedy is to split a Coke. The resulting burp usually cures things for us.

If I felt as miserable as our friend looked, if I felt that miserable for one day let alone nine, I have trouble imagining that I could make cruising my life!

And yet people do. Quite possibly a majority of the cruisers out there! Almost every one of my Admirals admits to getting seasick at least some of the time.

“I never gave seasickness much thought before we left Miami in 1996,” says long-term racer Ellen of Cayenne III. “So when we crossed the Gulf Stream, I didn’t have one Bonine aboard and I suffered all the way to Nassau, horizontal and in the dark. By the time we got to St. Croix, I knew I had a problem, a killer concern that could affect the life I had chosen.”

My Admirals pretty much agree that drugs are required, but they differ widely on which one works the best. Ellen espouses Bonine, an over-the-counter product. “It causes less dry mouth than other OTC products, doesn’t cause drowsiness, and is easier to find than Stugeron.” Not available in the US, Stugeron is a product many far-ranging cruisers recommend. Jean of Jean Marie, on the way for their second circumnavigation, says she and her husband always take a Stugeron 1-2 hours before departure. “One seems to be all we usually need; it allows our bodies to get accustomed to the motion, although in rougher conditions, I’ll take a second.” Kathy of Hale Kai also likes Stugeron. “It doesn’t make me as sleepy as some of the other OTC meds.” Like Jean, she usually takes a pill before departure. “But if I don’t, and later start getting queasy, it usually works for me to take one when I first feel the symptoms and then take a nap.”

Donna of Exit Only, however, says she cannot use Stugeron. “Instead I use a Scopolamine patch, cut it in half, and apply only one half at a time.” Cutting Scopolamine patches used to be a popular thing for smaller women and scuba divers who wanted to reduce the dosage, but as Judy of Ursa Minor, also a patch advocate, says, “Recently I’ve read warnings that the patches shouldn’t be cut, so I guess I won’t do that anymore!” Lisa of Lady Galadriel likes the new low-dose 12-hour Dramamine. “I do get a little sleepier, but it doesn’t diminish my performance when I’m needed.” Lisa tried Stugeron once, just a half a pill, but “it put me on my butt. I couldn’t wake up.”

Clearly, what seasickness remedy will work for you will come from some trial and error. All of the Admirals have tried wrist bands, ginger, ear drops (Motion-eze), “a cotton ball in one ear” , “cotton balls moistened with vodka behind both ears,” “crackers”, “pretzel rods” and fizzy sodas like Coke or ginger ale, and they are fairly unanimous that these cures may work in light conditions, but aren’t up to 25 knots in the open sea. Donna found the “electronic stimulation watch” (a techno variation of sea bands’ acupressure) worked well for her, but Karen of Sequester says she couldn’t stand it for the ten days it took to sail north from New Zealand.

If they differ in their choice of pharmaceuticals, my Admirals completely agree on strategy. Here is a checklist I’ve assembled from their suggestions.

1. Be as informed as possible about the upcoming trip to lessen anxiety. Anxiety is not the only reason people get seasick, but it is a contributing factor.
2. Prepare food for the crew for the first three days, including “grab & go” meals like sandwiches and “two-way foods” like bananas, applesauce, peaches and oatmeal.
3. Gather together all things you will need in the cockpit – meds, sunscreen, hats, charts, binoculars etc. – to minimize the need to go below
4. Do all departure preparations the day before, including checking out and hoisting the dinghy. Leave yourself some time to relax, but avoid alcohol.
5. Avoid leaving straight from a protected marina. Anchor out.
6. Have something in your stomach before departure (not just coffee!)
7. Engage as much as possible in boat operations. Steering almost always helps.
8. Avoid tasks with prolonged close visual effort. Likewise, avoid reading. (Try books on tape to while away the time!)
9. Get as much fresh air movement as possible. Use fans when below.
10. If all this fails and you must retreat below, lie down as near to the center of the boat as possible, the salon cabin sole if necessary!
11. Keep a bucket handy, so you don’t have to risk hanging over the side. If the side beckons, absolutely be sure to have on your harness. (“First you’re afraid you’re gonna die; then you’re afraid you won’t.”*)
12. Guard against dehydration, especially if you are vomiting. Force yourself to sip fluids (water or Gatorade). Get a prescription for and keep seasickness suppositories in the medicine chest against the chance things get bad. They are the only real option when you can’t keep anything down.

Here’s the good news: For most people, seasickness goes away within 72 hours, and over time, your susceptibility – your sea legs – will get better and better.

“The moral of the story is that just because you get seasick once, doesn’t mean you always will,” says Judy of Ursa Minor, “and even if you do, it usually goes away. I’d never let seasickness deter me from sailing off enthusiastically into the sunset.”

Contributing Admirals: Ellen Sanpere, Cayenne III; Jean Service, Jean Marie; Kathy Parsons, Hale Kai; Donna Abbott, Exit Only; Judy Knape, Ursa Minor; Lisa Schofield, Lady Galadriel; Karen Cary, Sequester; *Jan Loomis (formerly of Meridian Passage and author of the Healthy Cruiser Handbook), and others.

This article was published in the January 2008 issue of Latitudes and Attitudes.

Consider the story of Sheri Schneider of the Gozzard 44 Procyon. After many years of preparation and short-range trips to the Bahamas and Maine, Sheri and her husband Randy — in their 40s, fit and with Randy recently retired from the US Coast Guard — left Beaufort, NC bound for the Panama Canal by way of the Western Caribbean. They had a long-planned rendezvous with friends they’d made in the Bahamas to transit the canal and head for the Pacific. All went well on the transit, and they got an auspicious start on their first long passage – six days from Panama to the Galapagos – with near perfect sailing conditions.

On their first morning in Puerto Ayora, however, Randy woke with stomach pain. “We blamed it on the arrival lunch with our friends the day before and continued on with an island tour. But throughout the day and the following night, Randy’s conditioned worsened, and after some fruitless visits to the local clinic we realized the problem was becoming serious.” Thanks to their membership in DAN*, Sheri was able to make one call and the medical evacuation to Quito was arranged. Within a half hour of arriving in the emergency room, Randy was in surgery for a perforated ulcer!

Being sick in a foreign country where the language is different and the standard of care may not seem to measure up to what we’re used to is an anxious experience many cruisers encounter in their travels. Likewise, leaving the boat in an unfamiliar anchorage does not help. Yet both these experiences went well for Sheri and Randy because of two fundamental assets: membership in DAN, which coordinated every aspect of the emergency evacuation, and friendships with other cruisers they could rely on. Unfortunately, because the doctor in Quito recommended six weeks of recuperation, Sheri and Randy were forced to watch those friends sail on without them.

“When we finally departed for the Marquesas, we made great time, averaging over 160 miles a day the first nine days.” On May 8, however, with 1266 miles to go, a badly-timed lurch knocked Randy over and he fell onto the cockpit table hitting his back and his head. “At first we were most worried about a concussion, but the next morning Randy woke with major stomach pains again. “ Although the symptoms were somewhat different, by the 10^th, he could no longer manage his watches and was out flat below. He could not keep food, medication or water down, and he had not passed anything in days. Abruptly Sheri found herself single-handing a forty-four foot boat, standing all the watches, doing the navigation, handling the sails, even attending to the engine. They were halfway across the Pacific. “I was very much afraid Randy might die.”

From their first boat, a Macgregor 26’, Sheri and Randy worked at their sailing together. Obviously his Coast Guard career gave Randy a huge head start, but he insisted Sheri learn everything he did, and she was lucky that he was a good teacher, “a natural explainer.” They continued to learn together as they graduated over the next twelve years from the Macgregor in California and Oregon to a C&C 37 in Newport, RI, and finally in North Carolina to Procyon which they had built for them. Having the boat built meant they could have her fitted just the way they wanted, and four years later Sheri would have cause to appreciate the cutter-rig’s furling sails, controls led back to the cockpit, integrated cockpit navigation, and the single electric winch installed in consideration of Sheri’s bad shoulder.

But to Sheri on her own in the Pacific, the most important piece of equipment on Procyon was their SSB radio. Although their closest friends were long arrived in the Marquesas, Sheri could still be in touch with them via the morning crossing net. Alerted to her crisis, other boats on passage joined in to lend moral support by radio throughout the day, and three nearby Norwegian-flagged boats listening to the net changed course to maneuver into VHF range. Additionally Dr. Tom Walker of the catamaran Quantum Leap, although 500 miles ahead, daily talked Sheri through monitoring Randy’s vitals and administering treatments (enemas fashioned from a first aid kit syringe and some heat shrink tubing administered ten minutes every hour in an effort to ease the suspected blockage and combat dehydration.) “You can’t get that kind of support over a satellite phone.”

While Sheri juggled being both a full-time skipper and nurse, her friends, recognizing that Randy’s deteriorating condition required evacuation, took on contacting the authorities. Working with the USCG and French Navy, a nearby container ship enroute from Panama to Papeete was diverted to a rendezvous. Meanwhile, the Norwegian boats converged on Procyon and launched a dinghy to facilitate the transfer to the 700’ vessel.

This was Sheri’s worst moment. The ship could spare no crew to help with Procyon. Would Randy’s care aboard be any better than she was giving? Could Randy last the 2-3 days it would take the ship to reach Papeete? And should she go with him…which would mean abandoning the boat?

Suspecting he would refuse to go on that basis, Sheri decided to stay with their boat, but watching the ship steam away after Randy was hoisted aboard was an awful moment. “How would I find him? How would I get news? Had I made the right choice? As long as he was in the bunk below, I’d known I could count on him for a hug and to answer questions. Now I was on my own.” That night Jan and Eva on Necessity shadowed her and kept watch for both boats so Sheri could try for some much-needed sleep, but all the uncertainties continued to haunt her.

The morning brought good news. Unknown to them, the container ship had a French woman doctor as passenger who’d promptly put Randy on an IV. Hydrated and on a stable platform, his insides finally got a break, and the blockage, probably an intestinal adhesion from the surgery that had broken away in the fall, passed. Randy rebounded overnight and was able to tell her himself on the morning net.

Unfortunately, with 800 miles still remaining to Nuku Hiva, the wind was dying. Motoring now, Sheri had to deal with such practical issues as fuel supply and a clogging filter. Alerted to her concerns, their friends on Endangered  Species and Wind Pony in Nuku Hiva filled all spare fuel jugs and shuffled crew so that one boat could motor out to meet her with help. “I can’t tell you what it felt like when I saw Wind Pony motoring over the horizon, blasting Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” over their speakers.”

Now, fifteen months (and some thorough medical checkups later), Sheri and Randy sit on the lovely Procyon shifting gently on her mooring in Musket Cove as Sheri tells me this story. Around us are moored many of the players from this saga, friends for life. The Schneiders have sailed 5000 more miles since the Marquesas, including the vigorous roundtrip to New Zealand, with no further problems, and they have many more they mean to sail. “I didn’t want to go, you know,” says Randy. “It was a fait accompli by the time I knew about it. But I knew she would be okay. She had the abilities to do it.”

“And that’s the point of telling this story,” says Sheri, “that women need to know. They need to know about evacuation insurance, and they need to know about the importance of an SSB radio and how to use it to get help and support from nearby. But most of all they need to know their boat systems and how to sail the boat if the worst happens. Women came up to me afterward and called me a hero, but there’s not a thing heroic about it. It’s just being able to do what you have to.”

*DAN or Diver’s Alert Network is not just for scuba divers. Join at http://www.diversalertnetwork.org

This article was published in the December 2007 issue of Latitudes and Attitudes.

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