Don't just prepare the boat, but also prepare yourself for an ocean crossing
Last winter, in the middle of the Atlantic, I found asking myself "why did I sign up for this?"... This led me to think deeply about how we spent so much time focusing on getting the boat ready to cross an ocean and very little time on preparing ourselves physically and mentally. And I published an Instagram post on this topic.
By now that simple Instagram post has over 2 million views: it is a "tongue in cheek", light-hearted look at how to prepare in your home before you even move on board: Things like, don’t walk around your house unless you have one hand to hold on to a wall or fixture at all times, even crawl sometimes; run hard into the corners of your benches until you have a bruise count of 5 or higher; get someone to slide your plates across the table as you try to put food on them (remember you can only do this one-handed!); set an alarm for every few hours overnight, and then get up and stare at numbers on a navigation screen for at least 3 hours during your shift; ...and by all means, don’t leave the house for 17 days, not for any reason... ;-)
Little did I know this Instagram post would hit a nerve with so many people, hence I wanted to put down my thoughts in this blogpost.
From the day we chose to join the Viking Explorers Rally and cross the Atlantic, our minds were constantly working on "our lists". We had lists for ‘what equipment to buy’, ‘what to fix’, ‘first aid and safety’, and the ‘provisioning lists’, all of which we worked through meticulously. I’m sure all past transatlantic crossers know what I am talking about. The lists seemed endless. Trying to guess what will break, and the correct spare parts required... How much food did we'd need, not only for the crossing, but anticipating the prices in the Caribbean and planning well ahead... It all took a lot of thought. And a lot of time...
What I didn’t anticipate was the mental and physical difficulty I would experience during the crossing. A crew member on another vessel in our Viking Explorers fotilla, who had crossed the Atlantic East-West five times before, said somewhere along the trip that our crossing was one of the most uncomfortable he had ever done.... And that counts for something...
Please know that I am not trying to scare you here. In fact, I was never scared. "Anxious" yes, anxious of what might break, but never did I fear for my life. I just think that if I had taken the time to think more about how *I* would mentally and physically respond, I might have taken the time to stop and enjoy these moments, during the crossing, more and differently.
A fellow sailor and I gave each other a teary hug as we were about to set off to Grenada from Mindelo in Cape Verde. I said to her, "ít’s ok, we’ve got this” but little did I know what "this" was! Our crossing was predicted to have consistent wind but with some cross swell at short intervals.
Not being much of a sailor, I really didn’t know what this meant, but the reality was that rather than a big gentle following sea, we also had side waves which slapped against the hull, pushing the boat in a strange rocking motion. Yes, we were on a catamaran, hence the hull slapping, but fellow monohull owners will tell you that the motion made their lifes difficult too. They were sleeping wedged under tables on the floor, and catching things which came flying out every time they opened the cupboards.
If you are on a catamaran and haven’t experienced big seas for a sustained period of time, as I hadn’t, be prepared for the hull noise. It’s not all the time, but when it hits, it is like someone is hitting the hull with a sledge hammer. The noise is incredible. They say the boat can cope with more than we can, and in my case this was soooo true. Youtube videos really don’t show this reality, or at least I hadn’t heard the actual noise nor felt it, so it was quite a shock. This, along with the noise of the water rushing along the hulls and, in my case the autopilot constantly running, behind my bed, was overwhelming at times.
Then there is the constant movement. Yes, I know we all live on a boat and it is always moving, but on our crossing, it was so relentless. You couldn’t take one step without holding on, let alone cook, make coffee, shower and sleep! I anticipated there would be calm days, where we could swim in 5000m of water, relax and actually hope for more wind. Just like on the Youtube videos I watched before the crossing! But this wasn’t the case for us.
I’m not saying that I expected it to be all smooth sailing, but there was no reprieve. I had planned to bake, do daily stretches, keep the crew active with yoga, play games and puzzles etc, but for me, it was a struggle even just to get from the cabin to the galley. None of what I had planned to do during the crossing, actually happened, and this was so disappointing to me.
Even with all the seasick remedies in the world, I still struggled with nausea. I was never physically sick but it was a continuous battle. --Yes, at this point, you might ask what I was even doing out there!-- During our crossing some fellow die-hard sailors in our flotilla said they felt the same, so be prepared. And some of your crew might suffer too, and this adds another dimension: the challenge to have one (or more) fellow crew members down.
Overall I was overstimulated: the noise, the movement and the nausea, was something I could not control.
You should know that not all participants in our flotilla felt the same as me. But many did and we shared our thoughts constantly during the crossing, over a Whatsapp group. Indeed some embraced the challenge and fully enjoyed it. Hopefully this will be you. But if not, and if you find the Atlantic crossing challenging, like me, know that you are not a failure. That you haven’t let yourself or the crew down. You might, simply..., have found your limits and you are just.... challenged by them. Know, though, that this ordeal will end, eventually, and that these thoughts and feelings are normal!
My mind and body kept screaming at me to make it stop. Of course it couldn’t and it was hard for my husband and our crew to see me "not coping". Looking back, I wish I had been able to breath and appreciate this extra-ordinary thing I was doing. Even once we arrived in the Caribbean, it took me a long while to really appreciate the enormity, of crossing an ocean. I should have been kinder to myself, but "in the moment", I just felt so... inadequate. I wish that someone had sat me down and explained this to me before we left. Although I would have said that "I'll be fine, I’m tough", but I wish I had known that feeling this way, was normal. And that it was ok.... That would have been a huge comfort to me. Hence me sharing my experience with you now.
So what do I suggest? Before you depart, stop and think about how you will react when you are overstimulated, and feeling "on the edge". What tools do you have to help you relax and make sure you feel comfortable sharing how you are feeling with the crew.
Create a Whatsapp group with other transat-ers, who feel challenged too. We did this, in addition to the Viking Rally Whatsapp group, a smaller group which originally started as "Provisioning Tips and Tricks to share", but during the passage, it became "SSaSSY" ("Scared S**tless and Still Sailing Yachts"). We shared daily memes and quotes and supported each other on a more personal level.
I’m sure that you will each have your own personal experience. Please know that you are doing something amazing, and it is all worth it! And the Caribbean *is* wonderful! :-)
I’ll finish with a quote from Peter, the sailor in our group who was completing his 14th open ocean crossing. And I wish I had read this and reflected on it before the crossing... But I was too focused on other things (the darned "boat lists"!):
You are about to cross the Atlantic. It will be tough. You will lack sleep. The environment will be harsh. You might get sick or highly uncomfortable. You will at times come to thoughts of, ‘why did I decide to do this?'
But unless, in the midst of the hard times, you stop for a moment, look around you, and take in where you are and the extra-ordinary thing you are doing at that very moment, it will all be over before you know it. And when it is over, unless you stopped to enjoy the pain and hardship, for ever you will regret you did not enjoy that moment of "extra ordinary", and that you are doing this with the few other people in the world who are also privileged to share this adventure and experience this. So enjoy the moment, no matter how tough it is, enjoy the extra ordinary adventure you are embarking on.
Fair winds to all sailors about to cross the Atlantic in the next season...
Peter. Flemish, European, aid worker, expeditioner, sailor, traveller, husband, father, friend, nutcase. Not necessarily in that order.
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