Finding My Stress Threshold
Sometimes a slip is real therapy...
On Tuesday morning, after a quiet night anchored in the lee of Anastasia Island, just north of the Bridge Of Lions, the wind started to pick up. Ten knots from the north, then 15. When the ebb started, Laughing Gull began dancing around the anchor and occasionally running over the chain. There were two other boats anchored nearby, and they also were jumpy and roaming unpredictably. I started to feel as unsettled as LG, and nervously checked the weather forecasts. The NOAA marine forecast now had a gale warning posted for later in the week, and Windy showed deep shades of purple and red all over Florida and the Bahamas as pumping high pressure gave way to a fast-moving low forming in the Gulf Of Mexico. The last place that I wanted to be in these conditions, was bouncing and surging around on my anchor with very little room for error. My instincts and common sense aligned into a single clear message: find another solution. But moorings and slips had proved very hard to come by with Christmas fast approaching.
There is nothing worse than feeling like you have no good options, and a bulging knot of stress established residence in my stomach. The wind continued to build, and the knot increased with it. Without much hope of success, I called around and left voicemails at a number of local marinas and then dinghyed in to City Marina to see if I could get lucky and nab a mooring. A mooring would be rough, but at least I would be secure and wouldn’t be worrying about tripping or dragging my anchor. Of course, lots of other boats were trying to do the exact same thing.
Just as I entered the harbormaster’s office, my phone rang. I fumbled in my bag to find it and answer before it went to voicemail. Paul from River’s Edge Marina, which is safely tucked way up the nearby San Sebastian River, said good morning and that a slip had just opened up. For a week—which would keep Laughing Gull protected through the duration of the nasty weather. I couldn’t quite believe it, but he matter-of-factly assured me it was true. Relief washed through me. I told him I’d get there as soon as I could, irrationally thinking that the longer I took the greater the chance the slip might suddenly become occupied. Without talking to the harbormaster about a mooring, I beelined back to Laughing Gull with hope in my heart.
By now, the wind was blowing 20, gusting 25, and pushing hard against the fast-flowing ebb. The anchorage was churning. I managed to get the anchor up from under the boat without mishap, and caught the 10:30 opening of the Bridge Of Lions. South of the bridge, the water flattened a bit, and I motored into the well-marked entrance of the San Sebastian River. It proved deep and easily navigable, and was lined with marinas and boatyards. So this is where the locals are, I realized. With Paul’s help on the dock, I was into a slip by 11:30, with a web of lines securing Laughing Gull in place and fenders well placed. Only then did the knot in my stomach take its leave. Only then did I realize how deeply stressed I had been. I had been transported from the ominous and looming precarity of a tenuous, storm-tossed, anchorage to a completely different reality, the soft embrace of relaxed marina life, where the boat is safe, hot showers flow on demand, and getting ashore to roam is just a matter of a few steps. It felt very, very good.
Once fully settled in to Rivers Edge, I considered a question that had been nagging at me all morning as I gunned it for the safety of a slip: was I over-reacting to the forecast and was my instinct to get the hell out of the anchorage exaggerated? (Shorter version: was I being a wimp?) There are long-term cruisers who will no doubt stay out somewhere on an anchor and weather the storm. But I welcomed the offer of a secure slip like a parched man welcomes a tall glass of cool water, and was happy to pay the price for reassurance and a few days of peace (and lucky to be able to do it). My baseline stress threshold, I realized, was low enough that riding a gale out in the chop and current of St. Augustine’s anchorage would have been pretty miserable, with the stress possibly shaving years from my life expectancy. Joseph Conrad and Herman Melville would be scornful. Ernest Shackleton would weep.
The question nagged at me. But yesterday I biked in the wind and rain to the City Marina to pick up some packages. The anchorage in the lee of Anastasia Island—where I had set up—was entirely deserted, save for one sailboat that has been anchored there long-term. The mooring field was being lashed with wind and swell, and the boats in it were heaving up and down, and chafing against their bow lines. I stopped into the harbormaster’s office to ask him, out of curiosity, what my best option would have been had I not found a slip or mooring, and given the fact that my mast is too tall to get under any fixed IntraCoastal Waterway bridges (there are good places to hide in the ICW if you can get under the bridges). “There are no good options,” he answered simply. He went on to explain that St. Augustine is relatively unprotected and simply a sketchy place to be when a hard northeaster blows by. “Last night,” he said, “a sailboat anchored south of the southern mooring field dragged anchor and bounced across the shoal. I expect we’ll get a bunch more of that on the weekend, when the next system comes through.” He allowed if I had stayed in the anchorage the boat and I probably would have been fine. “But you wouldn’t sleep for a few days.”
While I was downtown, I shot a little video. This is what things looked like on Thursday, with a stronger system forecast to pass through Saturday-Sunday.
So perhaps my instincts aren’t over-sensitized. I wanted a little more challenge in a too-comfortable life. I wanted to scare myself a bit on occasion. But I am not out here to be utterly miserable (though a little misery on occasion is inevitable and acceptable—makes the good parts even better). And maybe my stress threshold will go up as I gain more experience in how Laughing Gull handles all the conditions the ocean and winds can throw her way. But it is good to understand where your personal line is and do what you can to avoid crossing it. And it is also good to be reminded that you should listen to your gut when your gut speaks with urgency. This time, I got lucky. Next time, I might not. I can try and anticipate more, and plan better. But the sea will always catch you out eventually. Maybe I will be that much tougher when it does.
On A Lighter Note: For anyone who writes, this nails it. I can imagine a Liveaboard Writers Boat Repair Service as well.
If you liked this post from Sailing Into The Anthropocene, why not subscribe here (free!), and/or hit that share button below? You can also find me on Instagram and Twitter.
Excellent piece (again), Tim. In thinking about it, and the stresses involved, I suspect that being solo is something that radically increases the angst levels. The parallel here for me is how much more relaxed I am racing (rowing) a double as opposed to single. It's so different when it's just you, and the inability to "run something past" someone else makes it a totally different situation. Safe saliing! Ed
Tim, as you can imagine, I especially appreciated the cartoon. Very glad to know you are tucked away somewhere safe through the storm.