What We Notice When We Slow Down
My husband and I sail around coastal Maine with our dog, Finn. Sailing season in Maine is short and rather precious. We get out for weekends when our schedules allow, but really look forward to two weeks in August out on the boat. It takes a lot of planning and preparation, but once we let go of the mooring and head out, it’s like the whole busy world fades away. Instead of looking at calendars and clocks, we look at the wind and weather. After a few days, we can feel ourselves changing to the rhythm of nature. Let the waves gently rock us to sleep. Wake up with the sun. I think boat coffee is the best. Cool morning, watching the sunrise and the sky change every few minutes. I’ll take a picture and think I’ve captured the most glorious sunrise. I put my camera down, sip my coffee and look up…and there is yet a more stunning moment of sunrise to be captured. Listening to seals fishing for breakfast. The birds greeting the day. It’s in these moments where I feel truly peaceful and connected with the natural world. The noise of schedules, bills and responsibilities fades. And I’m reminded briefly of the simplicity of being human. A brand new day.
Fogged in? No problem, sit tight. Or better yet, go back to bed for a while. It will clear. Sometimes we can’t avoid sailing in thick fog, seeing only 10-20 feet around the boat. This is incredibly disorienting. It always amazes me how quickly we can get turned around and travel in a different, sometimes dangerous direction. We rely on our trusted navigation tools (chart plotter, radar, depth) and sometimes a good old airhorn to alert other boats to our location and wait to hear theirs. Reminding us we are not alone in the thick blanket of fog. Eventually, the veil lifts. Either the weather has changed or we are near shore, and we can start to see again.
Being out on the water for several weeks, we invariably will encounter rough seas, rain and wind. Being prepared is essential, but we’ve learned you can’t prepare for everything. Sometimes you have to go with the flow, change plans or direction. We find ourselves in new territory. The unknown can be scary. Yet, this is how we have found some of the most beautiful places. One year we had traveled up the coast to Roque Island. Beautiful sailing. Suddenly we found out a hurricane was bearing down on us. We had to find safety and anchored in what is called a “hurricane hole”. These are deep coves that are protected on almost all sides from severe wind and seas. We ended up being there for four days, with very little cell service. I read all my books, took many naps and had my patience tested. We connected with other sailors who found safety in the cove and met some lovely folks. We shared meals on each other’s boats and enjoyed the company. We weren’t in the same boat, but we were in the same storm. That can forge unexpected friendships and comraderies. In fair weather, we may have waved at them as they passed by. The storm is what made us stay still, anchor and be present, allowing an unexpectedly pleasant connection. I am grateful. For the beautiful sunny days with nice wind moving us through the water. For the rain, fog and storms that lead us to unexpected places. For the brief and constantly changing sunrises. All of it is there, when we slow down enough to experience it, and it reminds us how truly precious life is.
