The Crossing

The final leg of our sailing would be 35-40 hours of sailing, what is called 'blue water', as in no land in sight, just the big deep ocean.

This was the part of the trip that had given me thrills of excitement and chills of fear. I knew the waves would be huge and the ride rough. I also now knew that my son was probably going to be super sick since he had been on the initial overnight sail. My husband on the other hand was like a little boy on Christmas Day, his excitement worn large on his face with a giant grin and a sparkle in his eye.

Almost immediately we had big waves. The boat rolled off most of them, tilting at the top of the wave then sliding to the valley giving us a sensation of being walled in by water. As we got further from land or what had become a thin band of the coast slipping into the blur that was the sky and ocean meeting, gave us waves that caused us to crash violently into the water. Huge sprays of water splashed on deck and since my husband, son and I sat at the front of the boat, giddy with excitement, we got soaked. The roller coaster ride of the boat flying up one side and down the other of these mountains of force made my tummy flip and my spine seize up. The ocean spread out before us, rolling over itself, a deep indigo blue, and reminded us of how small we really are. To see the ocean in that way, immense and powerful, was stunning. We sat, wet, in pure awe of the beauty we were lucky enough to witness and reveled in the experience.

As if the Gods were trying to seal the deal for us to become sailors, a family of dolphins joined our boat not once, but twice. Jumping seamlessly out of the water they criss-crossed each other and danced in the water. Each time they surfaced or leaped into the air, they were almost close enough to touch and the thrill was enough to make me want to cry. It was one of those experiences that make you buy ugly dolphin art and stupid dolphin jewelry so that you can remember it over and over and over.

The sun started to set and we climbed back into the safety of the cockpit.

The magic was over and now we would be at the mercy of the ocean. The waves were relentless and moving about the boat in the dark was far more difficult than ever before. Simply trying to sit was a workout of epic proportions.I thought a lot of my pilates classes. If you wanted to go to the bathroom downstairs, you had to clasp onto the center table, hoist yourself to standing and then, like a rock climber, edge your way around the table to the hatch. During this time, you would smash your hips into the table, followed by being flung onto the lap of someone sitting nearby. Once down the ladder steps, you had to reach, perilously across to another center table and edge around that through the kitchen. Wet feet had tracked water downstairs so there was a layered element of keeping your slipping, sliding feet from completely abandoning you . Our room was off to the right and forward of the boat. There was no door to our cabin, probably because someone had ripped it off on a previous crossing while trying to enter. Once in the cabin, the bunk rails served as hand holds as the boat crashed side to side and lurched forward and down off towering waves. I slammed into the wall then smashed my face into the side railing of the top bunk. I did this about 5 or so times as I eased my way to the toilet. Each step figuring out how to better shield my face, widen my stance, sacrifice my knees and hips and hurry! Once in the bathroom, you had to try to brace yourself while pulling down your pants, turning around and sitting on the toilet. I have never realized how much I take for granted being on land. For men, standing had its own fun challenges which I found out included using your head as a brace against the cabinet above the toilet. Then, you had to pump the toilet so it could empty...while it splashed its contents all over the floor and your feet. When all that fun was over, you had to get your ass back up top...and quickly because being down below added exponentially to being seasick.

We set timers for every 4 hours to take another Dramamine. The pills helped some, but more than anything put you into a hazy sleepy state. I had put a sheet over the vomit soaked bed in an attempt to escape the smell, but as I squeezed under a cubbie on the bottom bunk, my back pressed hard against the side of the boat to try to stay in place, the stuffy, hot, humid air, stank of the remains of days old sickness. My sweet, horrifically sick boy snuggled suffocatingly close, needing the comfort of his mom in a way I haven't seen in years. The timer on my husband's phone rang only as I was about to drift off and we all took more pills. The muscles in my legs and feet cramping in an effort to stay in place made falling asleep beyond difficult, but finally out of pure exhaustion and a heavy drugged state I must have fallen asleep because I found myself waking up. Waking up with the boat still creaking as it strained against the power of the sea. Waking up sweating, unable to open windows while under sail. Waking up wet??? Yes, I woke up wet. The bed was wet. My son was wet. And it smelled like pee. In the heavy drugged state, my poor child had wet the bed. I tried to rouse him, thinking I should change him into dry clothes. But as the boat jerked back and forth, the idea of doing something like that with someone close to unconscious, in the dark, sounded like more than I could handle. I knew this information could possibly send this poor kid off the deep end too; his ability to cope was already at a dangerous low. I took another pill and passed out.

Morning brought zero relief. I heard my son crying in the bathroom as he attempted to change his soaked clothes while being tossed into the counter and walls. I stood up, attempted to change my own clothes, at this point not caring at all that there was no door and got yet another round of smash-the-face-into-the-bunk to which I yelled cuss words into the noise packed air. That is when we discovered that the side window leaked and our bags, filled with our books and other valuables were not just drenched, but sitting in water. However that was better than what happened to my husband's phone. Evidently the "party" night had somehow lead my husband to the cabin with a glass half full of gin...which he tucked into a shelf...which in the night, he put his eyeglasses and cell phone into. Good times!

Night 2, now laying in a vomit and pee soaked bed, I let silent tears stream down my face. I couldn't believe how hard this experience was. Every second was so much work, such absolute hell. My child was so sick and unable to eat or drink that my concern was starting to get very serious. I put aside my own horrific discomfort and tried to distract my kiddo from his torture. I picked up my Dorothy Parker short stories book, soggy and melting under my fingers, and started reading aloud to him. My headlamp danced over the page as my head bounced with the movement of the boat while the book bounced the opposite direction, a result of trying to hold the book over my face since the bunk lacked the space to allow me to sit up. This made reading challenging and added to my own seasickness, but I am a mom and moms make their babies feel better no matter what. The eventual soft rippling laughter of my baby, mixed with the deep soothing laughs of my husband on the top bunk, as they listened to me read the sarcastic, tragic stories would be one of my favorite moments not just on the boat, but ever.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com