Let the Decrescendo begin….

Lowering my chin, I breathed heavily into my Musto jacket collar to warm my nose with steam. Standing several feet from the bow, I stood one hand tucked in my pocket, the other holding a pair of bulky black binoculars as I squinted my eyes to look for fishing buoys.  The boat plunged into a wave and I held on as a large splash of sea water, like a timed fountain show, shot straight up into the sky and back down near my feet.  Maybe I'll back up a bit, I wisely decided taking a few quick steps back just before another splash descended on the decks. The sun was beginning to set as we headed out of Plymouth and the floating fluorescent fishing balls were becoming more difficult to see.  Our eldest crew member, a jolly old fella in his late 60's, had been the one to point out the last one just in time to avoid it.  Not to be outdone by my elderly partner, I thought it best to go ahead and take the precautions to avoid the next one.  The evening air was a bitter bite, two small patches on my cheeks burning a little from the cold wind. I rubbed my hands together, finally walking back to the cockpit after the sun had set.  My eyes would be no use in the dark and we had ventured out far enough now to not need to worry so much about dragging a fishing line. My watch partner and I moved around chatting, pacing, swaying back and forth, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm, hands shoved in pockets wearing several layers of clothing that stiffened  our movements in a funny Gumby-like manner.  We are definitely not in the Caribbean anymore, I thought.  

The crew of 6 guys and myself had just spent the last few days in Plymouth after a few weeks prior at sea. The beginning of this leg began in St. Maarten the end of April and lasted for 10 days.  It was a bit of a rough ride that first week with waves crashing hard over the bow from two opposing swells and 30 knot winds banging us abruptly into them.  One of our crew had also become quite ill and feverish and I imagine he wasn't enjoying himself so much.  Thankfully the crew pitched in to take care of him.  Many of those nights I'd stumble to the salon from my demon possessed bunk that seemed hell bent on furiously ejecting me.  I'd sleep on the couch where the middle of the boat wasn't so dramatically effected.   After a few days of the rough weather and sleepless nights the winds finally died down a bit and the ride became smoother, the evenings cooler, and our crew a little less haggard with a decent nights' sleep.  Our stewardess had taken off to see family for the trip so it was just the guys and myself.  I must admit I had begrudged the idea at first of being surrounded by all the testosterone and sure I would be pulling my hair out within a week's time but I couldn't have been more wrong.  They were great, very helpful, and when we needed it we all gave each other space. There's something to be said about going through crappy weather together in the middle of nowhere and I am sure my fellow seafarers can agree.  As much as you could strangle each other at times, it bonds you as well in its odd misery.  There are nights on end where you just can't sleep due to the waves and you are each miserably tired and ready for it to be over, your patience hanging on by a thread.  The one night you finally get some rest it is like Christmas!  Everyone is friendly, eating a bunch of snacks again, listening to music, having positive conversations about future plans.  You can finally take a shower without having to wager whether banging into the wall while getting knocked by a wave naked in an unsteady stream of water is worth smelling fresh. All is right with the world again and beautiful sunrises and sunsets are photographed.  Soon enough, 10 days flew by and we reached the Azores.

The Azores is a group of Portuguese island once known for its whaling industry and a popular midway stop between continents for yachts. On our arrival there was a huge surge in the bay with howling winds and dark skies.  We tied off in perfect timing as our fenders groaned in a rubbery protest to the concrete docks in the Horta marina.  A heavy gust of wind blew the cold rain in sheets as our local agent Duncan, a dead ringer for Uncle Ben, complete with yellow rain gear and sporting a thick grey beard, welcomed us with a big smile.   

"Heeeyyyy!!!  Welcome to the beautiful Azores!" he laughed, spreading his arms out wide as though presenting a paradise of complete opposite weather.  Shaking hands with the boys and handing out beers as we tied up, we couldn't help but be giddy and appreciative for his hospitality.  It would be nice to be on solid ground for a few days.  Bad weather or not, the Azores, like any first stop after being at sea, was a welcome site.  

Our first night in town we obeyed the ritual of sailors gone before and got drunk at Peter Sport Cafe, an old cozy pub with a small whale bone museum in the back.  A room full of strangers became a room full of long lost friends singing and drinking into the night as the wind and rain howled outside. We ate plates of delicious blood sausage and some of the best local cheeses I have tasted in my life.  No surprise, considering that the Azores are well known for their fantastic grazing land and cattle.   After too much indulgence, we stumbled back to the safety of the boat for a long night of sleep.  On the weekend we rented a car and drove around the island to explore the countryside, volcano, and grab some lunch at a local cafe. Blustery and chilly,  we ran from site to site with cameras in hand, the wind strong and dusty.  Although the island was fairly a ghost town aside from the inhabitants of the boats in the marina and the occasional leery local, it was a lovely place to take a nice walk or explore by car.  After our reprieve from the Atlantic crossing, we were ready after a few days to return to the open water.  

On our 6 day journey to Plymouth was when I think we began to feel the burn.  It has been a long couple months of non-stop work beforehand and with the addition of the crossing, everyone was tired and ready to get to shore.  Short questions on watch with your partner and long gazes out at sea with a warm cup of tea or coffee in hand. "Do you want me to fill in the log book?"  "Coffee?" was about the extent of conversation at that point. You've talked everything out by now and you're tired. Not to mention we had just done a crossing coming from Europe just a couple months prior.  As my captain rightly put it, "For the last 3 months all we've done is move this boat from city to city.  I can't wait to walk around a place I know I will be able to get to know for longer than a week."  I couldn't have said it better myself. Soon enough...

After 10 days' stop in England between the beautiful historic towns of Plymouth and Portsmouth visiting crew family and friends, we made our way to The Netherlands.   I loaded up on Cornish pasties, English sausage rolls, and hot water bottles for the freezing cold air of the North Sea and for a last minute bit of nostalgia for my English crew mates.  Thankfully it was only a 24 hour trip and the boys did all the evening watches (bless their hearts) so it wasn't so bad! 

I was so very grateful to wake up the next day and be land based again for a good chunk of time. We were finally in a shipyard in Holland where our journey of the last year would make a 5 month stop.   A couple weeks of hard work in wrapping up the boat, putting all the interior and many exterior items in storage, removing sails and masts, and moving into an actual house kept us pretty busy while the beautiful bike trails and many attractions of Amsterdam kept us entertained.  Having a nice dinner in a spacious and cozy house with a yard and decent size kitchen was a perfect way to end the season with my crew mates.  

I am sitting now in my apartment back in Oregon and marveling as I read back at all that has happened this last year between Spain and now here.  One of my favorite crew mates has resigned, new crew have now joined our rotations, and I get to take the next 4 months to explore a new phase off the boat.  After all this travel and exciting experiences I have been so blessed to enjoy, I cannot help but be grateful for the time I have been given to rest as well and to reflect on this last year.  I take some time off this next month to enjoy being home and catch up with friends.  My writing internship begins with Elephant Journal, thus, hopefully, ushering in a new phase of work in my life.  I get to ENJOY the amazing hikes around the NW, pet people's dogs, hug friends' children, hug my friends, and not set my alarm for a watch.  Ahhhhhhh…I made it.  And life is grand.

When You're Starving, You'll Eat Anything...

Drunken staggering shadows slip out of the anonymity of darkness into recognizability in the pale light of the marina street lamps.  A sailing regatta ends as the weekend does on a hot, muggy Sunday in St. Martin.  Zombie walkers sporting stereotypical boat clothing and rum laden expressions zig-zaggedly make it back to their boats. Two guys on the boat next door stumble onto the pristine decks of the multi-million dollar yacht they crew on and take turns pissing over the side.  A group of young women loudly sing as they stumble through the street, purses swishing and paper cups sloshing liquids over their sides.  I sit quietly in the darkness on the aft deck listening to music through headphones slowly sipping my after-work beer in my clean evening uniform.  I imagine they are all a part of a dance, moving in time to the haunting music that is making this scenario a drama it is not.  There was a time I would have been jealous to spend a night out dancing in a club in the Caribbean.  There was a time I would have done it even though I had to be at sea the next day.  Time has a funny way of branding unwise decisions into the brains of those willing to listen.  I have had to be branded a few times more than the average person, I imagine, getting slapped into listening eventually. Thankfully the last time stuck.  For now.  

I don't finish my beer.  It has no relevance tonight.  I am tired, I am at peace, I know I cannot do my job tomorrow if one becomes five.  My responsibilities to my future with my job and to my menu take precedence as I get up to head back inside.  There is nothing here I haven't seen and I would rather not see it and be peacefully dreaming than mindlessly staggering with a few less twenties in my pocket.  I am lonely, though, and that is why I can't really judge and also can't sleep.  Because deep down, I understand more than I want to.

Do I sound depressed? I don't know what I am, to be honest, but yeah, maybe a bit depressed.  I am something in the "other" category and it has made my hands want to type again.  To reach out through my words and send out my flare in the darkness.  It has been almost two months since we left Palma and another two until we arrive back in Europe to Holland.  We will have had just a couple weekends off in this time and everyday I begin with a cutting board and a knife to prepare food.  It is my constant companion, my vice, and my nemesis all in one.  I don't know sometimes whether I am getting better at it or if I have become stagnant.  I just know that everyday I create, everyday what I make disappears, and everyday I start again.  There is a comfort and a loneliness in the cycle.  And the loneliness has started to become the comfort because it is safe.  Connections with people exist through text messages back home and imagined connections through podcasts and films because connections with people are a lot like my cooking when you travel like I do.  You create them, you consume what comfort you need from each other, you disappear, and then you move somewhere else and you start again.  When you have been at sea a lot, when you know anyone you meet you will have to leave, when you realize that they also are in the same boat (no pun intended), you know what you can do for each other is very limited.  It is the ones back home, the ones who don't understand the lifestyle and its effects that still hope for you, that still believe in your connection.  They are the ones who don't let go, whose light is the electricity that can be felt across an ocean in the darkest moments of the watch. Who you miss the most yet spend little to no time with in any given year.

I'm not going to lie, it has been hard for me lately. Hard in a way that is so far into the depths of loneliness that I have talked to my thoughts as though a separate person were in the room with me.  I pray all the time, though I don't know that I believe in God.  I'm starting to question whether I am just talking to myself and naming it God to feel less insane or if I really believe that someone out there is listening.  Have I become Tom Hanks in Castaway, talking to my own version of Wilson? It reads funny but it is sadly true, which may even make that statement funnier.   There are a lot of people who do what I do that feel this way often as well.  My crew mates and I talk about it from time to time. Often the true connections I have with other crew are when we can talk about it together and open up to someone about it.  There is a comfort in speaking the truth and a need for it because what I am writing tonight is more than likely felt by a lot of yacht workers.  Oddly and randomly enough, even Jonny Depp has done some research and writing about this!  (http://thegeneralalarm.com/2014/08/07/global-study-concludes-yachts-create-prisoner-mentality-in-crew/ )  

I am sad but not in a destructive or even bad way and it is ok to be sad if it motivates you to change.  Throwing the truth is sometimes the best way to sling the rock at the head of Goliath and kill the giant that has taken over.  Letting the truth set you free.  I know in my heart that in writing this, I am not alone in feeling this and it isn't maybe exclusive to yachting.  There are phases to loneliness and having passed the sadness, I've come to the land of acceptance and realization.  I am tired of being alone and battling it alone.  I am tired of making connections with strangers and sadly leaving and feeling as though I am an escalator you can have a moment of time to enjoy and then you must depart.  I haven't written for my blog in a long time because I didn't know how to deal with the way I was feeling and how to battle my depression and loneliness.  I am writing today because it is time that I do and I cannot do it alone anymore.

Thank you for reading.