This is the true story of 15 strangers picked to live on a boat, sail the ocean together, and have their lives recounted on a blog. Find out what happens when people stop singing “I’m on a boat!” and start getting seasick…
As far as transportation goes, taking a sailing yacht to Bermuda from NYC sounds luxurious. Hashtag yachtlife, hashtag imonaboat, hashtag blessed.
I thought so too. I dreamed of peaceful, pensive moments like this:
Really though, the majority of my time was like:
My bucket list includes “sail a ship around the world,” so when I came upon the opportunity to crew a 150-foot sailing yacht to Bermuda, I began practicing my pirate lingo. Six of us novice sailors were fortified by the expertise of nine professional sailors, including Captain Gianni; our enthusiastic instructor, Mike; the boat’s owner, and a chef. (A chef! Ok, fine, that is really #yachtlife.) In what I hoped would turn me from landlubber to seadog by osmosis, we talked navigation, weather patterns, safety, and provisioning for a four day ocean passage.
The mission: the 15 of us were to deliver the Arabella to Bermuda in time for the America’s Cup, where it was commissioned as a spectator boat. In less than a week, ladies in their finery and gents in their Bermuda shorts and knee high socks would board the yacht, sip Dark and Stormies, and watch the airborne racing boats fly by.
Our days revolved around our watch shifts. I was paired with the only other female novice crew member, Carly, and two professional crew, Colin and Frank. From 1pm-5pm and 1am-3am everyday, the four of us (wo)manned the radar to make sure we didn’t collide with massive cargo ships, recorded barometric pressure, thought about physics more than I care to ever, and made sure we continued on the right course with the help of our trusty friend, Auto Von Helm.
The first ship landed on Bermuda's coral reefs in 1609 with 150 English people expecting to settle in Jamestown, Virginia. Call it the first conundrum of the Bermuda Triangle. ⚓️ Here, @clearlycarly is using dead reckoning to plot our course, considering course over ground, the Earth's magnetic poles, and our true (not apparent) wind speed. Glad to have her navigate us through the mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle and on to Caroline's Bay, Bermuda! ⛵️ 📍Atlantic Ocean 🐝 #thenoblebee #sheisnotlost _ _ _ _ _ _ #pirateslife #sailingyacht #imonaboat #wanderwoman #yacht #exploringtheglobe #solofemaletravel #adventure #travelawesome #travelblogger #bermudadreaming #GoToBermuda #bermudatriangle #oceanpassage #americascup #ocean #humansatsea #fleetweek #intrepid #navigation #MemorialDayWeekend #physics #magnetic #passionpassport #Iamatraveler #traveleroftheweek #womenwhoexplore
To allay boredom, we shined the bell and practiced tying knots. Oh, and spotted dolphins, a needlefish, flying fish, shooting stars (not so rare!) and the Milky Way.
I peppered Frank, the First Mate, with questions about his days as a service member, when he flew and eventually crashed a helicopter in Alaska in the late 1960’s. Even after he retired he found himself in dramatic adventures, like the time he intercepted a robbery in progress and saved the bartender, but took a bullet to the thigh. No shortage of intrigue there!
The Swamp Yankee’s Savvy
Like a harbinger of grief, Steve, the ship’s engineer, whom the professional crew affectionately referred to as a “swamp Yankee,” warned us about Arabella’s propensity for rockin and rollin with the colorful aphorism, “She’ll roll the guts right outta a goat, she will.”
Twelve hours out of New York, Arabella began to fulfill Steve’s prophecy. I succumbed to the demons of the deep blue sea, and well, you can call me Goat, because my guts ended up in the trashcan, sink, and a cooking pot.
As sunny day turned to starry night, the wind chilled my skin, so I needed more layers. Before I made my way below deck to my cabin, I mentally listed the clothing I would need and the order in which I would put each item on to minimize the time I’d have to spend in the most nauseating section of the boat. My list: socks, a warm pair of leggings, my jacket, maybe gloves. Let ODB (Operation Don’t Barf) begin!
I was determined to get in and out of my cabin with Navy Seal like precision. I made it through the salon, down the stairs, passing nine other cabins on the way. I pulled on my socks, and moved on to item number two, my leggings. I got them over my ankles, to mid-thigh when I suddenly felt the meager contents of my stomach rise. I bent over the sink with my bare ass in the air, but was abruptly tossed around my cabin like a rag doll on a rollercoaster. Bread and water, the only thing I could stomach that day, came out my nose.
Isn’t sailing posh?!
Spent four days crossing the ocean to deliver a sailing yacht from NYC to Bermuda for the America's Cup. ⛵️My fellow sailors are the heartiest mothas I've ever met. Think rugby players are badass? Try climbing on deck at 2am after something snaps in half and the mainsail is flailing in the wind, the moon and stars the only light guiding your hands, the sea tossing the boat into 45 degree angles, and the last sign of people was six hours ago when you passed a cargo ship. 💪🏼 Meanwhile, I lost my lunch…and dinner, and next breakfast. 🤢 #seasick 🌊 📍Atlantic Ocean 🐝 #thenoblebee #pirateslife _ _ _ _ _ _ #sailinglife #sailingyacht #imonaboat #Bermuda #wanderwoman #naturelove #beebold #yacht #travelbug #exploringtheglobe #wanderlust #solofemaletravel #adventure #travelstoke #lessismoreoutdoors #worldcaptures #travelawesome #followmefaraway #WeLiveToExplore #earthfocus #travelblogger #bermudadreaming #GoToBermuda #americascup #ocean #humansatsea
Days later I learned most of us novices had weak moments. The way Justin described his attempt to sleep in bed, I imagined him as a Taco Bell chalupa, holding onto the corners of his mattress as the ship pitched from side to side, folding the corners in on himself each time he rolled.
And Jason–poor Jason, suffered privately, until one morning it became very public. As he was frying eggs for breakfast, the boat pitched and the frying pan flew off the stove, onto the ground. Cleaning up gooey egg yolks is gross in and of itself, but the myriad smells emanating from the galley pushed him over the edge, so he stuck his head in the trashcan and barfed. Our instructor stood behind him holding a tray of bacon, which eventually met the same fate and slid to the ground. Breakfast fail.
In the haze of my nausea, Colin sang, “Yo ho, yo ho, the pirate’s life for me!” to which I replied, “Is it though??! Is it really!?”
The fresh air a tonic, the stars a steadying point of reference for my rattled vestibular system, I laid outside on the upper deck for the most part of our four day journey. As the hours progressed, I woke to find pillows, blankets and eventually a mattress beside me, brought by my fellow sailors to minimize my discomfort. There’s truth to the idiom “curse like a sailor,” but not an equally established truth of “caring like a sailor.” There should be.
Seasickness and no internet gave me space to sit with my thoughts. As sailors rotated watch I heard them regale each other with tales that drove out boredom and inflamed passions. I considered how many of our ancestors came by boat to the U.S., by choice or force, and the physical, mental and emotional intensity of that experience. I asked myself, and couldn’t answer, if I’d ever sail an ocean again, even though I managed to earn glory as the “Permanent Watch Keeper.”
After four disjointed days, we arrived in Bermuda. The journey was not at all what I expected, and that’s OK, because slow travel gave me the opportunity to withdraw from perpetual noise and busyness. Taking my first steps on land in four days on fluffy pink sand didn’t hurt either.
Check out my previous post on what to do when you’re in Bermuda.