Caroline's Voyage
Chapter 2
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Chapter 2
I’ve learned, mostly by doing, little by little, and from reading books written by the sailors who’ve voyaged long distances. There are lots of them. I love the way some of them communed with nature and all the creatures of the sea they met along the way. We’re not alone out there. Not yet, anyway.
I’m going to need a good boat to voyage across oceans, to take me south and then west across one ocean and into the next. I’ll need to have a cabin to get out of the weather and to hunker down in when the waves get big and wind is fierce, a place to cook meals and have some quiet for reading my books and collecting my thoughts.
It’s amazing how noisy it is on the deck of a sailboat. I’ve learned first hand how the wind, rain, and even the sun, can eat away at your strength and ability to think clearly. I want a boat I can trust to get me through those scary times when the sea tests us. The type of ocean cruiser I should have might look something like this:
About 34 Feet
My friend Betsy and I have known each other since we were four years old, and ever since spending summers swimming and sailing together up here. She’s away at college these days, but we still see each other in the summer, and I’ve visited her a few times at her parents’ home outside of Boston.
Last summer I worked a run from Boston to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and then from Newport, RI to Bermuda, as chief cook and bottle washer on Betsy’s father’s 42 foot sloop. We hit bad weather in the Gulf Stream about 200 miles out from Newport, RI, and I had to prepare and cook the food with the boat plowing into huge seas and leaning at 60 degree angles. So I know a little bit about what it’s going to be like.
The best part of those two offshore ventures was being out of the sight of land. I loved during the day the way the boat would ride up on the crest of a wave as a stormy petrol, or whatever it was, skimmed by, or porpoise broke the surface sending a spray of salt water over us in the cockpit, and at night how the stars looked so close that you could reach out and touch the Milky Way.
One afternoon a Styrofoam coffee cup from some far off garbage bag floated by on the Gulf Stream currents. I wondered how many circumnavigations of the Atlantic Ocean it’s made. That indestructible plastic cup will still be drifting around out there long after we’re gone.
I was the only female on board, but Betsy told me afterwards her dad said, “Caroline was great to have on board. She was as good at the helm as any of the more experienced crew members. She stood watches, worked on deck, and the food she made was edible.”
That’s the order in which I would have wanted to be judged. I think I could have managed alone in those conditions in a boat that’s not so big. Maybe not pushing so hard as we did, but still getting there okay.
The map shows the track we took from Marblehead to Halifax:
To Halifax
And this is the rhumbline (that’s a straight line on a flat map from one place to another) from Mt. Desert Island to Bermuda, including the Gulf Stream where we hit the bad weather sailing there from Newport, RI:
To Bermuda
A rhumbline is supposed to be straight, but I think my ruler slipped.
.
“But you’re a girl,” they tell me, “and so young.” I say if you can’t do this when you’re young when can you do it?
“Why don’t you get a job crewing on some charter boat that’s cruising in the islands in winter and goes to Europe in summer,” one of the owners of the boat yard where I work said to me. “You can have some fun, get it out of your system, and then go off to college and a career.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. I might have told him (but I didn’t) that sailing is not the end for me, it’s the means to take me to far off places under my own power, and to meet interesting people from totally different backgrounds and outlooks on life. It’s a test too. I want to find out if I can face forces I can’t control and get from point A to point B mostly on my own. I don’t want to be tied down in an important job someday and think that I missed my chance to do this. Mom says it’s that kind of thinking that makes me an iconoclast.
My mom is really cool. She grew up on a farm in Minnesota, and met my dad at college. He was an engineer with a good job working big offshore oil rigs as far away as the North Sea and off the coast of Norway. I was six years old when he didn’t come back from one of his trips. They never found his body. I still dream sometimes that he’s alive, maybe picked up by some big ship, with a knock on the head that took away his memory. Maybe Mom does too, because she’s never remarried.
After Dad’s memorial service Mom took us to the summer house my dad built. We all loved the place. She went to get her life back together, but we’ve lived here ever since. She teaches in the middle school where I went, and I graduated from the regional high school two years ago. I still have all four of my grand parents, and they’ve been good to Mom and me. We spend time in Minnesota and dad’s parents live now in Tampa, Florida. So Mom will not be alone when I leave. That makes me feel good about it. I think I worry about her as much as she does about me.
I promised her I’d apply to college when I get back from this voyage. Right now, I’m a sander/painter in the local boatyard. This is really hard work, especially in the cold of winter, but the money has been good and I’ve learned to do things around boats that’ll come in handy sooner or later.
We had a family confab on whether I should do this – not whether I was to be allowed to do it. It went something like this:
Dad’s father: “You’re a good sailor, Caroline. I’m not worried about you’re being on the ocean by yourself. I’m thinking about your time on shore. There are more than a few bad people out there.”
“I know, Gramps, but that’s as true here as it is any place I’m likely to go.”
“You’re probably right about that, but you’ll be alone.”
“Not completely. I’ll have the phone and I’ll make friends.”
Mom’s mother: “My dear, you ought to carry one of these audio alert thingamajigs, just in case.”
“That’s a good idea, Big Mom.”
“So, how often will you call home,” her husband asked.
“She’s not going to be on a real schedule, Dad,” Mom answered for me.
“I’ll try every other week,” I said, “but that might get too expensive. I’ll call when I can though, and not just when I need something.”
And on it went. We talked about places where my grandparents had been, and how much these had probably changed; about the weather and storms at sea; and my Dad’s father, who had been a fire fighter in the Navy, gave me a lot of advice I hope I never need.
In the end they all said, “Have fun, and take care of yourself.” I told them about Tristan Jones’ advice to keep “One hand for the boat and one free for yourself.”
I know they’re concerned, especially Dad’s parents who still mourn his loss like it happened yesterday. “We don’t want to lose you too, Caroline,” Gramps said.
A few weeks ago Betsy’s dad got me an interview on one of the Boston TV stations. There were two hosts for the program which was live in the afternoon. They told me to dress in sailing clothes - in the middle of winter - and wanted to know why I would even consider taking a trip like this, and how I was going to do it. It was fun, but kind of strange too with the questions people from the audience asked.
“Aren’t you afraid to go alone?” "No."
“What do your parents think about it?” My Mom's okay with it."
“When are you going to start?” "Don't know yet."
“How long will it take you?” "That depends - maybe 2 years."
“Do you tie up or anchor at night?” (In the middle of the ocean?)
“What will you wear?” "Old clothes mostly."
“Do you need a passport or visas?” "Yes, and that's a huge headache."
“Can people call you on your cell phone when you’re out in the middle of the ocean?”
“Won’t you run into things while you’re sleeping?” "I hope not."
“Can you take a dog with you?” “How about a cat?”
“How will you protect yourself?” "Good question."
“What happens if there’s no wind?” "I stop."
“Can you take frozen foods?” "No, I won't have a freezer."
“How do you get electricity?” and “lights to see at night?” "Batteries."
“How do you have enough water?” "I'll make it and catch it."
“Can’t big ships bump into you?” "Not on purpose I hope."
“What happens if the boat sinks?” "I'm shark bait," the guys in the Yard tell me.
“Where do you go first? To Europe? Or to Hawaii?” "Don't know yet."
“Will you have a bathtub? A Shower?” "Rain squalls galore."
“What do you worry about most?” (Fire at sea, probably, since talking with my grandfather.)
My story went over pretty well I guess, because it got picked up by a national TV show, and a few weeks ago Mom and I went to New York City for me to be interviewed again. Betsy came over from college nearby, and joined us.
Someone asked Betsy if she was going with me.
“Are you nuts?” she said. “I’ll fly to where Banks is, bring her some goodies from home, and keep in touch on the phone, but I’m not going out there in some damn sailboat.”
She’s right, I am a little crazy, or maybe as Mom says, an iconoclast (I dare you to look that word up), but this is something I'm going to do. Dad’s father says that it’s often how you do things that’s most important, not whether you’ve done it or not. Everyone is different, and the situations that I’ll meet are not going to be the same as others had to contend with. Reading up on all their stories is helping me get prepared for the best and the worst of what’s to come, but who knows what’s really waiting for me out there. It’s scary, but exciting too.
Maybe I’ll take a cat along for company. What do you think?
Then the miracle happened, the TV station got a call from a yacht broker in City Island, NY (which is quite near New York City), who said one of the boat companies they represent has a boat for me to use. We’re not exactly sure how this will work, but Betsy’s dad, who’s a lawyer in Boston, will work out the details for me. I can hardly believe it.
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Chapter Comments
- I thought you were a real person.
Posted By Anonymous on February 13, 2008 @ 11:59 AM