Expectation vs Reality: Our First Passage
by KARIS
Today is the day after our 30 hour passage from Cartagena, Colombia to San Blas, Panama. Other than a quick shakedown cruise, this was really our first time sailing our new boat. It was also our first overnight sail (ever) and was our longest passage to date by a good 25 hours. As we bob along here in the calm, crystal clear waters of the San Blas Islands (spoiler alert: yes, we survived), my head is spinning, trying to reconcile my expectations for the cruising life with the reality that the past couple of days has illuminated.
We left Club de Pesca marina at 6am Tuesday morning. We saw the moonset and the sunrise as we navigated between the red and green channel markers (after running aground here during our “shake down” cruise a few days earlier, we learned to keep our eyes on the buoys). We left a day late due to customs delays, so while the wind was in our favor (20 knots behind us for the most part), the seas were predicted to be rough (11 foot waves, 8 seconds apart). Having zero experience in an actual ocean (I’d only sailed in the Sea of Cortez) I didn’t really know what that meant. Had I known, I would definitely have delayed our departure.
Saying goodbye to Cartagena as the city skyline disappears on the horizon
The seas were nothing I had ever imagined. They were confused and messy and massive - towering between 15 and 20 feet. The swell looked like it was going to devour our boat whole. The waves lifted us twice as high as our flybridge, and dumped us back down at the valley. Over and over again. Relentlessly. I puked up whatever was left in my stomach after 7 days of having “the kittens” in Colombia, a name Sloane made up to describe what feels like cats clawing their way out of your intestines. The only place on the boat that I found comfort was laying down with my eyes closed, wedged between cushions and the table to minimize lateral movement. If I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of the horizon 20 feet above, or the reflection in the galley window of the pending doom of the dark blue wave behind us, it was all over. This went on for about 25 hours. It never lessened. I had no choice but to surrender to the sea.
I felt slightly less shitty after sunset, I think because I couldn’t see what was happening. Before we left, a wise sailor told me, “Your boat will handle the seas. Your boat is big and sturdy and will be absolutely fine. Your mind will be your challenge - your own thoughts will be what you’ll need to worry about.” I repeated this like a mantra - our boat will be fine. Our boat will be fine. Our boat will be fine. Our boat was built for this. By some super smart engineers and designers who don’t want us to die. It won’t flip over - that would be an engineering anomaly. It looks and feels like the sea could flip it like a penny. But this is not possible. If I can quiet my mind, everything will be fine.
It sucked not being able to help. I had pictured myself trimming the sails, taking the helm, the wind in my hair and a smile on my face. Ha. This is when I learned that my first challenge to overcome would be letting go of my expectations. A metaphor for life, really. We would all eventually get to our destination and this was all that really mattered.
Meanwhile, outside of my head, the kids were thriving. You would have thought they were just on a bumpy roadtrip in the old minivan. Sloane went down below at one point, threw up in her toilet like a professional, and then popped back up and got right back on her iPad. They slept together in a pile on the flybridge, like a pack of puppies.
Sleeping like a pile of puppies
It was like a super fun camping trip, only on a boat, and as if I were pregnant with horrible morning sickness. Malana and Ryan were steadfast - taking turns at the helm while Mike and I wallowed in bile and self pity. At around 3am I woke up and realized that my body had adjusted to the chaos. I peeled myself out from under Sloane and took over for Malana who had been up all night. This was probably the highlight of the passage for me. I felt well for the first time since we left the marina. It was dark and peaceful (though still turbulent beyond my wildest dreams).
The full moon was like a beacon above us and aside from some unfamiliar creaking sounds and lines slapping the side of the mast, the boat was quiet. I watched the full moon sink lower towards the horizon, casting a long silvery reflection on the black water. Around three hours later the sky behind me started to illuminate the blue gray clouds. I had never been so happy to see the sun come up. Like clockwork, as the sun rose, the moon set. It would have been perfect…except at this precise moment, alarms starting sounding, waking up the rest of the crew and signifying that we had lost GPS, AIS and navigation. Luckily, we were just a couple hours from land and cell service, which guided us into the anchorage of Isla Porvenir.
Today, it feels a little bit like waking up after a crazy night of partying in college. I feel like I survived a seemingly insurmountable challenge that was self inflicted, nonsensical and totally unnecessary. And all I have to show for it is a hangover and a blur of awkward memories. At least in this case, I also have the San Blas Islands. Finally, something lives up to my expectations for the cruising life!
San Blas Islands, Panama