“There is a point when facing the unknown stops becoming an adventure and becomes a frightening reality. It’s then that you make a decision about your personal strength. Being strong doesn’t mean you won’t be afraid, you just have to decide if you will succumb to that fear, or you will rise above it and become stronger.” Alison Gieschen
Our well-organized rally was not off to a good start. The goal was to cross to BVI with the Salty Dawg Rally out of Hampton, VI, departing November 3rd. In preparation for this crossing, we took aboard two crew members – Michael and Rob, both flying in from across the country. We wanted lots of hands on board to assist with night watches and help in event the going got rough. Of course, mother nature decided to once again teach us that she was in control of our lives. She sent nasty nasty weather to delay our departure, sprinkled with teases of a good day here and there, followed by more nasty weather to wreak havoc should anyone decide to tempt her fate.
With the departure moved to November 7th, we decided to head down the coast to Beaufort to be closer to the entry point to cross the Gulf Stream. With Strong winds and high seas offshore we chose to take the ICW. This delay, plus the prediction we would not have winds in our favor, sent Rob back to Minnesota as he had to be home in time for Thanksgiving. Down to three, we made our way to Beaufort by the evening of the 6th.
After a few hours of sleep, it was time to begin our adventure. We had been given our weather window by the fleet weather guru, Chris Parker. At the o’dark hour of 4 AM, we threaded our way out of the harbor in eerie solitude and silence. The glorious beginning to the crossing I had imagined, blistering sunshine, a large fleet of boats with sails flying, brisk winds setting our tack as we headed out into cerulean blue sea, VHF buzzing with discussion on routes was not to be had. As fate would have it, once again we were crossing the ocean, totally alone.
As we were heading south down the ICW, there were still 5 or 6 other boats sort of on the same path. Some were headed to Antigua, some to the Bahamas, and even one or two to BVI. During the 10 hours we were in Beaufort, we lost contact with all of them. We hoped that others were following the advice of Chris and departing at the optimum time of 4 AM. This was supposedly the calmest time to cross the Gulf before the next system came through that would create dangerously strong winds and 11 ft. seas in the stream. We had 18 hours to get across or wait at least another week before our next opportunity. There was definitely an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as we headed out into the moonless, inky, night. Memory of this same trip gone horribly wrong last year, caused fear and trepidation to creep into my mind and question if we could really do this. No turning back, the wind began to build, the waves were a little larger than forecast. Facing the unknown was frightening me, but the reality was, I was going to have to face that fear.
The first day was breezy and sunny. It was too rough to put out fishing lines which would have been a nice distraction. We had about 50 miles to sail before we even reached the Gulf Stream, the 40 miles of ripping, tumultuous current we had to traverse before the wind built against it. We knew we had arrived when the depth finder stopped reading the depth. That meant we hit a thousand feet of water beneath us and were in the stream. Just as we realized we were now in the stream, our guardians angels of the sea arrived, greeting us and playing for an hour at our bow.
One does not develop a feeling of confidence in the weather prediction when the winds continue to strengthen, seas build, and you know a storm is chasing you. However, the boat was handling the 6 to 8 feet swells well and it was rough but manageable. The first night descended and we set up our watches, Michael taking the first, me the middle, and Dan until dawn. The biggest problem was that the wind continued to clock around further than predicted and continued to blow at us from the direction we needed to sail. By the middle of the Gulf Stream, not enough progress was not being made in the direction we needed to go. Knowing we had a long journey to BVI that might require us to motor, Dan made the decision to turn on the engine and give us the power we need to get out of the Gulf Stream and head closer to the course we needed to take. Using our satellite phone, we continued to get emails from Chris and weather updates. None of them looked good for wind direction, and a series of confused fronts were quickly deteriorating any hope that we could get to BVI without motoring for 5 days. Our max fuel would give us about 4.
By the third day, we were making our way south as quickly as possible. Strong storms were predicted to the north. South of us, the wind was completely stalling for several days, then coming from the east, the direction of the islands. We had one other option. We could divert to Bermuda. This was problematic only for one reason. Our crew member Michael was flexible with his time frame for arrival, however, our daughter Katie and son-in-law Sean, had plane tickets to meet us on the 15th in the Virgin Islands. For those who have read my blog from last year, this was the same scenario we had last Christmas. Family was due to fly in and meet us for the holidays, and we didn’t make it. I was horrified that for the second time, I would be letting down my family.
With a heavy heart, I contacted Katie and told her we were not going to make it to the islands in time to see her for Thanksgiving. Fortunately, she and Sean were able to change their tickets to Bermuda for no extra cost. Problem solved? So it seemed at the time. Life was good again. We had plenty of time to get to Bermuda, another 4 or 5 days. We would spend 10 days there, refuel, then head to BVI on the next good weather window. Meanwhile, we had one delightful day of sailing. The weather was perfect, winds in a good direction, and we even caught two Almaco Jacks for dinner. Emails from Chris with weather updates began the unsettling fear that the rather innocuous start to this trip was about to take a turn. We had made great progress south to get to BVI. We now had to head directly north east. This was just in time for a nasty cold front to make its way into our path, with 30 knot winds and heavy seas. There was no way to avoid it – we would just have to deal with it and do our best to get through it.
The weather prediction had the heavy wind not arriving until the next day when I took my watch at 11 PM with confidence. The main was reefed, we had the storm jib up, and we were sailing along nicely at 6 knots. I was proud of myself. I had been trepidatious when I heard the report but I talked myself into staying relaxed and into enjoying the stars, the immense ocean, and thrill of the adventure. I popped my head into the cockpit about every 15 minutes to make sure the electronics matched the horizon. About 1 AM, the boat lurched rather violently. I scurried up to look about and found the wind howling around me and the waves whipping into a tempest. In less than 15 minutes, the wind had gone from 15 knots to over 30. My heart began pounding, and that old familiar nemesis, fear, joined me for the night watch.
I tried holding out for a few minutes. The wind was stronger than I had even seen it out at sea. The waves were building and the boat was bucking against the waves. I went to wake Dan. It seemed an eternity until he got dressed and made his way on deck, to find me white knuckled and quite panicked. “Its okay,” he comforted. “The boat is handling this fine. We knew we would be coming into these winds, it was unavoidable. They just arrived a little early.”
Arrived they did. The next two days we had heavy winds, huge seas, periods of torrential rain. It was rough on everyone. However, I can say with great relief, that I finally came to peace with my fear. We heard through the radio of several mishaps other boats were having. Two boats had their forestays break, threatening to demast their boats. Engines failed, people had all kinds of issues. We did just fine. Other than our fridge giving up on life, an inevitable issue with a 25 year old system, I can’t complain how our boat, crew, and equipment held up. During my next night watch, I was able to use our satellite phone to text my daughter. I couldn’t believe my response when I told her about the weather we were sailing in and she asked, “How are you doing, momma?”
“You know what Katie? I’m not afraid. The winds are strong, the seas are rough, but for the first time I understand we are going to be ok? We have a great boat, your dad knows how to handle this, and I am learning to push past the fear and accept this.”
It was a revelation to see those words on my screen. I had faced my worst fears, felt them tugging and pulling me under, but I didn’t give in. And while I know there will be many more fears I have to face, I am a bit stronger knowing that they don’t have to overtake me and control me. I am learning to control them, gain strength, and that is a wonderful feeling.
We are safely in the harbor of St. Georges, Bermuda. The tale of arrival is yet another story. Us being us, you know that our journey will always have twists and turn – and advents such as the freak snowstorm that arrived in New England just as Katie and Sean were flying across the country from California to meet us. As of 9:00 PM last night when we should have been picking them up on shore, their flight from JFK to Bermuda was being canceled due to the snowstorm. The wonderful, worry-free holiday “Thanksgiving in Bermuda” is off to an interesting start. All I can say is, we are getting very good at expecting the unexpected. We are learning to not fear the storm, just adjust our sails. Our frightening realities are testing our fears, but creating personal strength. It is an amazing journey and one I wouldn’t trade for the world.
Fair winds and following seas,
Alison and Dan
s/v Equus