When this sailing dream was new and fragile, I probably talked about it a little too often. The common concerns I inevitably heard voiced — storms, rogue waves and a variety of scenes that all led to sinking — I had carefully prepared answers for. In addition to the technical marvels of satellite weather forecasts, life rafts and EPIRBS to help ensure our survival, I truly believed that statistically we were far safer on the ocean than on the freeway. While it didn’t always work to convey this to others — mathematics and the subconscious speak very different languages — at least I felt solid with my position.
Then someone would ask ‘Won’t you be lonely?’
This question always stumped me good. The truth was, I had no idea, and it worried me too. When Colin and I cast off the dock lines, would we enter a black hole where the light of human contact couldn’t penetrate? If you know me, you’ll know that while I’m a bit of an introvert by nature, I adore people. Love them, love them, love them. And if you know Colin at all, you’ll know that he lives for people. His greatest genius is people. You’ve never seen the man more happy and glowing than if you place him in the middle of a crowd, and you’ve never seen the crowd happier either.
Were we insane to consider leaving our comfortable, happy, friend-filled lives?
Human beings are an inherently tribal species. Jaguars, pandas, polar bears not so much. Once the cubs of many animals learn how to fend for themselves, they’re off to live the rest of their lives primarily alone. One can only assume that platypuses (platypusii?) don’t feel lonely day-to-day or else Mother Nature has played a terrible trick on them. Same goes for tigers, black rhinos and ocelots. But homo sapiens survived more effectively when part of a group, and thus the neuro-pathways that encouraged affinity grew especially strong. Biologically as well as psychologically, we feel a deep, existential need for belonging.
Could Colin and I possibly get that need met and yet always be on the move?
(Spoiler alert: ABSOLUTELY!)
From the day I started sailing, I’ve been amazed by what a tribe sailors are. You happen to mention to the right person that you enjoy being on a sailboat and you’ve unknowingly given the coded handshake. Suddenly, you’re welcomed inside this secret society you never knew existed, like the Freemasons or Yale’s Skull and Bones Society. Strangers become immediate friends. Friends become family. Conversations turn to boat designs, racing mishaps, sym versus asymm kite debates. To anyone else, it must sound like Mork suddenly switching from English to Ork. For a writer who’s used being alone in her head, it’s an amazing feeling to suddenly belong to a group of humans.
Yet for all that fellowship of sailors, it turns out cruisers have them beat by a nautical mile.
We should give this a little context. Real cruisers have 20,000 nautical miles under their keels. If not a circumnavigation, then an ocean crossing or two. Real real cruisers have 200,000 miles. After bopping up and down SoCal, when Colin and I arrived in San Diego, we celebrated our baby cruiser milestone of 1,000 nautical miles and the successful completion of our California Coastal sail. Not exactly Cape Horn, but not a timid stretch of water either. As fledgling cruisers, we did the only possible thing and headed for the nearest happy hour.
Lo and behold, there was that cruiser community to welcome us with open arms. We shared drinks and stories with several folks who had sailed the South Pacific thirty years ago when a sextant was the high end of technology and GPS and chartplotters were barely a glimmer in the Department of Defense’s eye. They could have looked at us and seen latecomers who had it easy. Instead, they cheered our miniature milestones and were genuinely excited for the next steps of our journey. They shared every bit of advice they could think of and even invited us to their house for dinner.
While travel and boat projects kept us from taking them up on their offer, think about that for a second. How often in the modern universe do you meet strangers and immediately become great pals? In Dana Point we’d had a cruiser gift us an adorable flamingo bulldog clip (boat multi-tool par excellence), a list of favorite anchorages in Mexico and boat song lyrics. And in San Diego, the cruiser community was far from done with us. A boat neighbor gave us the skinny on anchoring options. Another gave us a ride to pick up more zincs. A trio of cruisers spent nearly an hour helping us choose a marina, find gear we needed and figure out creative solutions for items that could not be sourced. We were handed at least a dozen cards from people who said “Really, if you need anything when you get to Mexico, please call.”
Perhaps because you have to be so self-reliant on a boat — the 21st century’s answer to the Wild West — the same person that might drive by a car with a flat tire knowing AAA is a phone call away, is willing to jump in and turn their lives upside down to diagnose an engine problem, dig up a spare part or catch a dock line. And when a big fish is landed, in a modernist take on a hunter-gatherer community, the entire anchorage is often the beneficiary. Also, maybe because the journey part of cruising is such a solitary activity, cruisers flock to each other when they reach a destination. A boat no sooner drops anchor than sundowner flags are flown and neighbors putt by in their dinghy’s, saying hello, talking fish/gear/tides/anchorages/weather/food, feeling affinities and quickly becoming friends.
Cruisers are a diverse lot — economically, socially, geographically, politically and physically — but they accept all-comers like long-lost friends. It’s a bit like when a dog gets to a dog park, it doesn’t matter if he’s been going for years or is the new canine on the block, whether he’s a dachshund or a malamute. He’s a dog? He’s in. When cruisers recognize a fellow cruiser, tails start wagging double-time.
Practically, of course, this community was enormously helpful for us in San Diego. But even more importantly — at the end of one milestone and the beginning of a new one, at the time of a very emotional memorial service Colin attended, as we prepared to leave not just our friends but our country, familiar places and language behind — it was deeply emotionally fortifying. We belonged.
Fair winds and following seas, dear friends.
Where are we now?
We’re still in San Diego but not for much longer. Winter is catching up with us even down here. With apologies to everyone not located on the equator, we figure if we can see our breath at night, it’s time to point the bow south and hoist a sail or two.
So next up, Mexico! Specifically, our intention is to check into the country in Ensenada, stock up on a few things and then head out pretty quickly for more remote locales in Baja. It will be our first border crossing, and taking politics aside, the fact does not go unappreciated that while thousands are willing to put their lives on the line to cross the border to the north, the entirety of our challenge crossing it to the south consists of showing up with a passport and saying we’d like to come in, please. Uh, por favor.
Speaking of which, we’re working on our Spanish and reading our history books and are really jazzed for the opportunity to gain a much deeper understanding of the fascinating U.S. neighbor to the south that so far we’ve really only chatted with at block parties.
Also — hopefully — whales and turtles and tunas, oh my!
Massive thanks to Mark for the drinks and inspiration, to Doug and Claudia for the ride and many offers of help, to Eric and Sue of SV Ti’ama for the support and friendship, and to Alberto of Sea Horse Diving Services for being one of the friendliest and most professional folks we’ve ever had scrub Pristine’s nether regions.
Thanks also to Val for the visit, the tacos, the stories of the past (not sure I wanted to know all the ways Colin could have died, but thanks anyway), the present talk of humans and all their foibles and the whiskey (!). When we reach Abreojos and find you stowed away in the surfboard bag, we promise a few waves before you have to walk the plank.