The Outer Banks of My Endurance
Being in the middle of nowhere can be unsettling. It can also be exhilarating. I learned this a few summers ago with my friends Jeri and Denise on their 45-foot sloop sailing to the Outer Banks.
We were moored at a marina south of Annapolis. Prior to departure, I strolled along the pier and chatted with strangers preparing for their own sailings. Once as I left the boat, my right sneaker caught on something and fell into the water. It floated under the pier and out the other side. Denise retrieved it with a grappling hook.
Sailing down the bay and into the Atlantic was beautiful. Dolphins escorted us. Once we were at sea and away from land, the stars and Milky Way were stunning. The night sky is a source of wonder most are denied by the lights of civilization. My shipmates did not know the stars and were guided at night solely by their instruments. I knew the constellations and confirmed our heading.
The sloop had a main sail and a jib called a Genoa. Adjusting them required working one of the winches and maneuvering around the deck while wearing a life vest with rings on the front through which you ran a cord that you clipped to a railing or mast.
The boat had automated course charting and an autopilot, as well as an engine that we used to augment the sail power, depending on the wind. We traveled at between three and six knots.
My main contribution was switching the engine on and off or turning the boat a few degrees to port or starboard as requested by whoever was on watch. It was an adventure, but a far cry from Gregory Peck in Moby Dick.
As we sailed off Cape Hatteras on the third day, we were caught between the Diamond Shoals to the west and the Gulf Stream to the east. We risked running aground on one side and being swept back north on the other.
The open sea was much rougher than the bay. I became seasick and did not eat for two days. Dramamine only helped so much. Feeling trapped aboard the sloop one night, I briefly considered swimming for shore. Then I remembered that I wanted to survive the trip.
At times we rolled so badly, it felt and sounded like an earthquake below deck. This is what happens when you don’t have a stabilizer, as a larger ship does.
The difference between being on deck and below is amazing. Just to look across the water with the summer wind in your face brings joy. Below is what you put up with for the sake of the moments up top.
On the fourth day the engine failed, filling the cabin with smoke. I was lucky to be on deck at the time. A pipe in the exhaust manifold had broken. After rounding Cape Lookout, we were towed into port at Beaufort, North Carolina.
Jeri and Denise were determined to get the boat repaired and head back out to fish for tuna. I bailed early the fifth morning and returned to DC via taxi, bus, and train. My friend Robert bought my eTicket for the bus and train while I was still at sea. Given the madness in this country, having no internet for a few days did me no harm; but I was relieved when we got close enough to shore that I could exchange text messages.
The main thing I learned from the trip was gratitude for things I had taken for granted. Everyone I met between the boat and the train station was gracious and helpful, from Denise who gave me cash for whatever came up, to the dreadlocked woman driving the taxi, to Will at Sugarloaf Island Bakery (I was never so grateful for coffee and a ham-and-cheese croissant), to the man driving the bus. On the Palmetto train to Washington, I was even grateful for the familiar sound of a baby crying. Back home, it was heaven to soak in a hot bath and sleep in my own bed.
It was a good experience, part dream and part nightmare. I was glad to have strayed outside my comfort zone, and glad for the ship’s radio we used to summon help.
I almost miss the phantom sensation of the floor swaying under me, which lingered for a few days after I left the boat. I won’t feel that again until my lover Patrick is back in town. ▼
Richard J. Rosendall is a writer and activist at rrosendall@me.com.
Photo:Gene Gallin on Unsplash.