Bravery, Preparation and Sailing

Hilo, HI, 9-Nov-2019 — One evening, while we rigged a spinnaker aboard a T-Bird sailing out of Dorchester Harbor in Boston, I confessed to the skipper of the vessel that I was not very physically brave. I could see his face, and he looked at me dumbfounded and said “you sail a T-bird from New York to Boston? If that’s not brave I don’t know what is.”

It wasn’t bravery, I knew exactly what I was doing and there was no reason to be afraid unless I managed to get out of my depth or do something very stupid.

I’ve driven cars on back roads and highways in the middle of the night, and the occasional Sunday afternoon, at over a hundred miles an hour, 160 km, and never been afraid. I knew what I was doing, and didn’t start out driving a car fast, I slowly over a period of years drove faster and faster as I learned what will happen when things go awry.

I learned to sail the same way, pushing the envelope a tiny little bit over time until I was one of those crazies taking a Laser out in high winds and water that was nothing but frothing white, planing over the wave tops.

But I have a great fear of social pressure, disapproval from my peers and being a fool in public. It has kept me away from attending concerts by artists who were not the darlings of my peers, but who I desperately wanted to see: I might look out of place amongst the audience by being too young or the wrong color.

Those artists are all dead now, and there will never be an opportunity to see them.

Physical things, technological things, and things that don’t involve peers are merely a matter of preparation and understanding one’s limits and the limits of one’s equipment.

The first time Jennifer and I ventured into the Pacific coming out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca , we were under power. Caro Babbo behaves much differently under power , she is balanced differently, the power to drive the boat comes from the back of the boat below the waterline.

Immediately upon entering the Pacific, green water started breaking over the bow running back across the flush deck hitting the windscreen and spraying over the top landing somewhere aft of the cockpit.

I was surprised, but not afraid. Part of the reason I was not afraid was because I looked over at Jennifer who showed no sign of fear at all. Later I learned, of course, Jennifer had no sign of fear because she had no idea what the potential for calamity was.

We did have a calamity, which could have had remarkably grave consequences, but did not. The bolt which holds the anchor restraint came loose and gave way. I misunderstood the mechanics of it and did not understand that it was about to come loose.

The nylon rode wrapped the propeller and shaft, burning the clutch, but was cut through by the propeller. A chain rode might have torn out the propeller shaft.

As Jennifer read more and learned more, she understood more of what the consequences could be sailing.

I am not brave. I am prepared, I have the skill set, the proper equipment and I am well enough educated to understand what to do in almost, if not, every circumstance we are likely to come across. I feel prepared not frightened.

Jennifer, on the other hand, for whatever reason whether she feels not as prepared, or not as capable, or doesn’t believe that she, or we, can overcome what we might meet. As I have written, and Jennifer has written, at the beginning of the trip she was crying multiple times a day, at the end of the trip, she would still, occasionally, break down into tears of fear.

Bravery is overcoming one’s fears. It is being afraid and doing it anyway. In the scheme of physical bravery, Jennifer is much braver than I will ever be.

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The first two times I tried to climb a mast in a bosun’s chair, I never made it past the boom. But, eventually there came a time when there was no one else to climb that mast and it had to be climbed. So I did. The first time only as far as spreaders, which was fortunately as far as I needed to go. Successive times to the mast-head, and then in Port McNeill I stayed at the mast-head for two hours working on an antenna problem.

Had I overcome my fear, or just gotten used to the situation? I overcame some fears, in part because I learned that by wrapping one’s legs and one elbow around the mast, it was impossible to fall. I would end up slowly sliding down the mast but be in control. Letting go with both hands was a horse of a different color.

There are large long-term fears, like fear of the ocean, and I do admit stomach tightening on shore when winds are over 10 knots or even when there are whitecaps. But it is a very different feeling aboard where there is a context for that wind and those waves. Reefing takes a boat that is starting to get a bit out of control and tames it back to a vessel making way.

There is also the very large difference between a fragile, breakable, racing craft like a Star or a T-Bird when there is too much wind, and a cruising vessel like Caro Babbo.

Ask Jennifer to write about her fears. What they were before we started the voyage. Did they decrease during the voyage, and lessen as we progressed?

Despite my assurances to you that I was not afraid and was prepared, I shortened sail at times much too early. I became timid. I would lose the feeling of mastery and allow myself to be cowed by the weather, and become contaminated by Jennifer’s fears.

Mastery of the situation comes with exhilaration, the knowledge that you are in control, and can yell at the elements, the speeding car, anything over which you are taking mastery and bending to your will.

Offshore, with a short-handed crew, is different. One can’t push so hard that someone must be at the top of their faculties continuously. There isn’t the physical and mental stamina to keep that up for days on end.

I have never had a skill, and at one or two very esoteric things I was probably among the best in the world, that there wasn’t somebody who was better. There is always someone better.

I listened to a female Olympic runner, it may have been Wilma Rudolph, who said about one of her victories, “on that day, I was the fastest runner in the world. “

So I write about this, speaking with expertise that I probably don’t have, about our personal experiences and overcoming our fears. When compared to the sailors that we met in Radio Bay we never had anything to fear.

I talk about preparation and expertise. We also spent money. We spent money on an Iridium GO for satellite communications, and on Predictwind weather routing. The fellow sailors we met in Radio Bay, did not generally use good weather routing and each found themselves in 30-plus knot winds, and other circumstances which were well beyond anything we did on the San Diego-Hilo leg.

Would my lack of fear persevered in heavier weather? I like to think so.

Would it have persevered if something severe had broken, like the rudder, or a window, or being dismasted. Or even being holed and forced into our life raft. I also like to think so.

I’ve generally been a very good person to go through emergencies with. But am I brave?

On a New York City subway in the middle of the night in the 1970s, the train stopped at a station. The doors opened but did not close again, nor the train move. A rumor worked its way down through the cars to my car that there was someone on the platform with a gun. I walked over to the door fully intending to look out to see what I might see.

I found that no matter how much I envisioned myself looking out the door, I could not do it.

I’ve chased a burglar out of my house through my bedroom window. I’ve quickly tucked a small child behind me so that I stood between her and danger. Neither were much more than adrenaline.

I think bravery is demonstrated when there is time to think, make decisions and do something for which you cannot shake the fear.

Ask Jennifer.