Lessons from an offshore voyage: How one woman’s life was changed by the sea

“Do we remember how to do this?” I ponder in my offshore sailing journal.

“My mind creaks as I shift from boat maintenance to sailing. Having spent the hurricane season in Wisconsin with the boat tucked into a boatyard in Florida, Dave and I realize it has been five months since we’d hoisted sail on our Hylas 45.5, WILD HAIR. We comment on the butterflies in our stomachs.”

And so begins our great offshore sailing adventure from Green Cove Springs in north Florida (N 29 59 30 W 81 39 65) to St Thomas in the US Virgin Islands (N 18 20 19 W 64 56 40). In total, the trip was 1,566 non-stop nautical miles. Moving at an average speed of just over 5 knots, the trip took 15 days and 80 gallons of diesel to complete.

During the half-month afloat in the Atlantic—with nothing but combinations of boat, spouse, sea, and air—I became forever changed.

Some of the changes I might have predicted, others I never could have guessed. Here is a sampling of what lingers after the journey is complete.

• My doubt about our ability to undertake the voyage was healthy, but not necessary.

In retrospect, we were prepared. We had spent years updating our 1994 vessel for offshore travel. Dave and I gained experience sailing her up and down the east coast and touring the islands of the Bahamas. We had attended boat show lectures, read books, and queried fellow sailors about their offshore experiences. We were physically fit.

To ready our 16-year-old boat for offshore, we pulled WILD HAIR’s mast to check electrical connections and thread fresh running rigging

Yet I remained leery because our mettle was untested. There is a limit to what we could know from books and lectures. Eventually, we had to go offshore and taste the voyage for ourselves.

By completing the voyage my husband and I graduated into that proud class of “offshore sailors.” Now, I experience a freedom, a confidence knowing I can pick a far away destination and—together with my husband—sail to it, safely.

• I was thrilled to learn on the trip that—in all sorts of conditions—our boat is sea-kindly.

Offshore, WILD HAIR surfed large waves as they overtook us from the stern

While underway, I wrote:

“With a little smart handling, WILD HAIR finds her way expertly in the seas. The hull, bobbing happily through unending assaults, finds a middle path. In the past two weeks I have seen a year of wear put upon her and yet she stands tall, willing, able, and ready for more.

Our boat possesses qualities hidden to the buyer that knows only to ask, “Is she strong? Can she go offshore?” The reputation says yes. Now this indebted sailor says yes. Discovering the boat in this way is like meeting a lover only to discover that my lover is also my best friend.”

Preparing for a sail-away departure, Heather raises the main sail prior to hoisting the anchor in a cozy harbor in Bequia, Grenadines

• Not surprising was our technical growth; the trip made Dave and me better sailors.

Previously I was skittish about big weather. Now, after smoothly navigating a strong gale at 47 knots and several lesser gales, I feel safe riding out heavy seas. I feel at ease detecting a change in the wind and adjusting sails and course headings.

Today, I am so confident in our boat and my know-how that I often hoist sails in the face of a blow whereas before I would have shrunk from intimidation.

• I learned technical lessons from the things we didn’t do on our trip as well.

In retrospect, maybe we should have gone north to go south.

The Caribbean 1500′s route, from Chesapeake Bay to the British Virgin Islands (Photo from www.carib1500.com)

Every year, the Caribbean 1500—a cruising rally open to sailors like Dave and me—departs Hampton, Virginia and travels nonstop to the Virgin Islands. Surprisingly, that route is the same distance to the islands as a departure from Florida.

But this year, just weeks before our voyage, Caribbean 1500 participants made the trip in only nine days, averaging eight knots, compared to our two weeks at five knots. What was the difference?

Given the slope of the east coast, Virginia is located hundreds of miles east of northern Florida. Their trip was almost due south and the dominant winds pushed from behind nearly the entire distance.

We did the trip the hard way. Northern Florida is just about as far west as you can get on the east coast. So, we sailed 955 nautical miles east—into the wind—before we could turn south to reach our goal.

Doable, but it was slower and harder on a body and a boat.

The Caribbean 1500 also insists on crews of at least three people per boat. This would have been lovely.

With just the two of us, Dave and I were on a constant rotation of watches.

Adopting author Beth Leonard’s recommendation for each of us to take at least one long sleep per day, we found ourselves refreshed when the seas were quiet enough to sleep.

Otherwise, we became exceptionally fatigued. Worse yet, it is necessary on WILD HAIR to manage the main sail halyard at the mast; our lines do not come into the cockpit. So, every time we reefed or let the sails out we did so as a team—further disrupting our partner’s rest.

Ear plugs and a lee cloth gave us the peace we needed to rest offshore

Depending on our 15-year-old auto pilot with no back-up was also fool-hearty. If it had failed, our exhaustion would have increased exponentially.

Were we to go offshore again, we would certainly equip ourselves with a wind-vane or a third crew member.

Late in the trip I learned another dangerous lesson: no-wind days can be as risky as heavy weather storms.

Here is a scary story from my journal on the day we were becalmed:
“Imagine a lumberjack camp. In it, a 60 foot crane lifts a ten foot log on a rope. The crane swings right and left 15 feet in each direction until the log arcs wildly. It only takes two or three strokes.

This is what happened this morning as we took the whisker pole off the forward sail. Dave was standing on the bow as I furled the sail in from a winch at the stern. I heard a strangled call and as I looked up Dave fell backwards onto the deck. The log/whisker pole swung wildly from the top of the rocking mast clearing him by inches as he fell. The pole easily could have knocked him overboard. It easily could have knocked him out.

Luckily—and it was sheer luck—Dave saw the pole coming out of the corner of his eye and dropped. On the pole’s next pass, Dave caught it and the drama was over. It was to date our most frightening moment and the whole event happened in less than 10 seconds on a sunny day in calm seas.”

• On the spiritual side

Heather and Dinghy the Sailor Cat take watch at the helm

We learned anew that we carry people with us forever

On the spiritual side, although Dave and I did not discuss these unusual happenings until the last day, we both heard and could not help but respond silently to a crowd of people as we traveled.

At sea, childhood friends joined us as companions at the helm. Elsewhere, we heard voices from family members encouraging us, laughing with us, or chiding us to do better. It mattered not if people were long dead or if we hadn’t spoken to them in decades; they were actively engaged with us on this journey.

Taking note of the people that accompanied us was fascinating. We learned anew that we carry people with us forever, and—everyday—they help shape our understandings and our actions.

I also learned anew that nothing stays the same.

In my journal I wrote:

“This is a blissful moment. Gun shy about how quickly our fates change, I am no longer presumptive enough to call it a ‘beautiful day;’ I can only vouch for this moment. In 20 minutes everything may be different.

The sea is teaching me about the dynamic and ever changing flow of life. I cannot hold anything forever. Nothing stands still in time. Absolutely nothing is permanent. But, this present moment is heavenly.”

Finally, after two weeks at sea, I had something of a spiritual insight as we approached land.

Here is what I wrote the morning of the last day:

“I am at the helm as the sun teases the horizon at dawn. The lights of St Thomas are visible like chunky sugar crystals on a Christmas cookie in profile, gold and red.

For the past several years of our sailing life, I have been acutely sensitive to the cruelty with which people treat each other. Every time Dave and I re-emerge from an extended sailing trip and come back into the US culture of media and financial markets, we are stunned by how badly people behave: spiteful politics, greedy business decisions, and selfish personal indulgences. None of this is new to the history of mankind. What is new to me is the degree to which bad behavior saturates every aspect of our collective lives. It is the fascination and allure of news casts, the tantalizing plots of sitcoms, and the root of catastrophic economic loss. Constantly turning off the TV, I find it almost more than I can bear.

“But this morning, with the sugar crystal lights of St Thomas on the horizon, I saw nothing but the beauty of mankind. We take care of each other through the gift of light in the dark night. Art, literature, science, medicine, environmental protection, and education are all evidence of our nurturing higher selves. Food—the act of growing, storing, preparing, serving, and eating is a reflection of kindness one for another. All of civilization is a testament to our love. Civilization is the creative energy and celebration of our coming together.

“I am so relieved. Now, I can see the beauty that counterbalances the chaos of petty ways. Now, I have a salve for the pain. The ugliness becomes mere background noise to the greater story arch of human inspiration. “

Fatigued but happy, Dave and Heather arrive safely to St Thomas, US VI

These were a few of the experiences that re-molded me on my time at sea. I am not exactly the same person I was just months ago. I am humbled and made stronger by the challenge. I am a better sailor and my heart has opened a bit more.

These are lessons I could not have learned by staying home. It is necessary to leave the safety of the shore to be reborn by the sea.

About Heather Mann

Sailing adventurer and freelance travel writer Heather Mann lives aboard Wild Hair, a 1994 45.5 foot Hylas sloop.

With husband and cat, Heather has cruised nearly 10,000 miles in four years, sailing from the Mid-Atlantic States to the south-east Caribbean.

She is a dedicated student of Buddhism, practicing under Vietnamese Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh. In 2006 at Plum Village—Nhat Hanh’s monastery in Bordeaux, France—Heather was ordained into the core community of the Order of Innerbeing.

Currently, Wild Hair is sailing the waters of Grenada.

Hear more about her travels at AdventuresOfWildHair.blogspot.com.

Read also on this website

• Heather brings her meditation practice aboard, by Heather Mann

What have you learned on your offshore passages?

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