the night watches between day 3 and day 4 were perhaps the hardest time on the journey for me -- David and I came out to our first watch at midnight to something like 25 knots of wind and biggish seas, and for some reason, my confidence utterly left me -- I had absolutely no idea what I was doing on the boat in the middle of the ocean, and suddenly the idea of getting behind the wheel and steering terrified me, particularly after having had the wheel yanked out of my hands by a squall our first night out -- fortunately David is a good enough friend that I could just tell him about this panic attack, rather than feel I had to hide it somehow, but poor guy had to steer our whole shift while I tried to get my head sorted out.
it didn't help that the interior of the boat made absolutely horrific noise whenever we were in rougher conditions -- the fiberglass and wood framing sounded like they were trying to rip themselves apart, and any time the boat came off a wave slightly wrong, it would slam down on the water with an incredible BANG. at times I would be below, lying in my bunk & utterly convinced that it was blowing 50 knot above, the sails were torn, and the boat was about to break in half -- not sure why the interior amplified the sound so much, but it was absolutely awful.
my best attempt at describing it later is, to imagine yourself as a small animal, like a mouse or a lizard, that's been put inside a shoebox -- then strapped onto one of those old amusement park rides, not a roller coaster but the kind that sort of lurches in different directions and randomly spins you around -- now imagine it's made of wood, so it's creaking and groaning wildly -- and every so often, someone picks up the shoebox and slams it on the floor, BAM bam BAM BAM!!! I have no idea how we slept through it, although we did, routinely.
so david steered our whole first watch, and we went back to sleep from 3-6 -- but I woke up at 6 out of a vivid nightmare, which is something I NEVER have (neither me nor my sister nor my mom ever seem to get nightmares, they're incredibly rare) -- I knew it was just a dream, but it had been so vivid and tense, I felt utterly shaken by it -- had to excuse myself before going onto watch, lock myself in the head, and just cry -- I felt so completely discombobulated. once outside in the cockpit, though, the winds had dropped back slightly so the seas weren't as rough as on our first watch -- and steering the boat actually helped me calm down, remember where I was, and regain the confidence that I can do this. and then we got to watch the sky change from black to blue to sunrise, which really is the best time of day on a boat.
so, a bad night, but it ended up ok. this photo was taken on day 4, but somehow it fits the mood of that night to me...
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2 comments:
hi -- i found your blog through your flickr feed. it's fascinating. keep the stuff coming -- i don't think i'd ever have the stones to sail across the ocean. my wife and i recently went to africa and took a little dinghy about a mile from shore into what we thought were big waves (the locals assured us it was a calm day). either way, we were terrified. didn't help that they didn't have life jackets, but in retrospect we were just wimps. anyways, best of luck with it all.
Great blog, I am enjoying your honesty about the emotional experience of sailing - it can be a real personal struggle. I remember once when crossing the Bay of Biscay in a force 8 crawling into my bunk after 10-2 night watch and thinking that I should try and get some sleep now because we probably won't be able to sleep in the liferaft. But then there is the buzz when you are on the helm and in the groove steering through mountainous seas with the "ride of the valkyries" playing in your head!
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