Yesterday was my second time sailing. A friendly coworker is the proud owner of a cruiser-racer hybrid sailboat, which can take a crew of 6. He’s often looking for crew, and as the end of summer is nearing, I thought I’d give it another shot.
First time was a mixed experience. The weather was good, and I enjoyed most of it, but ended the trip thoroughly cold and a little seasick. The sea wind is very efficient at sucking every heat out of you, and I was glad when the day was over.
So this time I came prepared for the cold, I had 3 layers of fleece over normal clothing, a windbreaker, and windbreaker pants. But, foolishly, I didn’t come prepared for seasickness.
The trip started out fine – the weather forecast was not promising, but we actually had a clear sky. The wind was whipping up large waves, and as soon as we left port, the boat started dancing on tall waves – impressive but fun.
The idea was to run a race. Races in that kind of boat means going through a virtual starting line as soon as the starting shot is fired, and doing a few loops around a couple of buoys. The buoys are dynamic so that you need to sail at least one of the legs upwind.
This being a race, the more experienced sailors got to steer and adjust the sails, and I was left playing intelligent counterweight. I listened to anything that sounded like ‘changing tack’ or ‘ready to gipe ?’ and scrambled over to the other side of the boat. Not that simple when you climb over a near featureless expanse of white plastic, and the boat is changing inclination dramatically, and you need to avoid a sail swiping past over your head.
As it was, it was fortunate that I didn’t get to do anything more complex than hanging over the correct side of the boat. About 45 minutes in, my stomach started playing up, and the fun part was over. I learned that seasickness comes in waves, like the sea: you feel steadily worse, until you start retching up (whatever’s left) a few times, and then you get a reprieve for about 10 minutes, until the buildup starts again.
During reprieves, I tried to understand what was going on. Sailing vocabulary takes some translation (starting with bloody ‘left’ and ‘right’, for god’s sake), especially when you have to parse it in two languages (dutch and english). There are many rules, and numbers in knots and degrees. We were at times surrounded by other boats, not that surprising, in a race, and priority was to be observed. Keeping two sails taut and functioning at all times in changing and violent winds also takes a lot of ongoing monitoring and action. A sailboat, like good open source projects, is no democracy, and you quickly understand why that’s necessary.
There’s no graceful way to be seasick. I puked a few times on myself before finding the right way to get everything to go down the side. The upside was that I was showered with brine on a regular basis, so the worst got washed off. Also I hadn’t eaten anything since 6o’clock in the morning, so I was spared anything solid.
I had a major case of cognitive dissonance. I love the idea of sailing, and have wanted to do it for ages. The waves glinting in the sun, the graceful shapes of other sailboats, would normally have me sighing with contentment. As it was, I was feeling way too bad to enjoy it, which felt like a shame, even through the nausea.
As I was hanging there, my feet soaked with seawater, painting Peter’s boat with the contents of my stomach, I reflected on how I could be sitting in my living room reading a good book, with no more movement than the slow, slow sliding of tectonic plates a few miles below. Not having eaten since six, being wet and violently sick left me a shivering wreck, just waiting for it to be over.
There was another unhappy sailor on board, so I was spared being the only one. The skipper ended up taking pity on us and cut the race short. He explained to me that at that point, there weren’t many points to lose anyway. As soon as we hit port and quieter waters, I felt better. I took a shower, changed clothes, and forced down some sandwiches, feeling almost human again. Then I scrubbed whatever traces of sick that were left on the boat.
If I’m allowed back, I’ll give it another try. This time I’ll take the pills, and I’ll wear the many layers, and plastic boots, and I’ll hope the experience will be somewhat more like what I keep imagining it should be. Arrrr.
Indien ik Kabouter zou zijn, dan was ik niet Klus, maar Lui. Ik ben immers echt niet handig en van hard werken word ik zo moe. Mijn Kwebbel zou dat zeker bevestigen, maar ik hoop dat ze er wel aan zou toevoegen dat als ik eenmaal hamer en zaag vastheb, ik niet meer te stoppen ben.
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