Perfect Moments

Sometimes the universe decides you should experience something special.

Being on a sailboat, being on the ocean, is a constant study in contrasts. The passage from Chesapeake Bay to St. Simons Island was windy and wet, and challenged both the boat and the crew. Luckily, I enjoy some adversity (as long as it all works out!), and I know plenty of masochists who are happy enough to join me in eating ocean spray and sleeping in wet bunks.

But one reason adversity can be so rewarding (beyond the sense of accomplishment once endured), is that it can lead to better times. And that has been the case since I arrived back on Laughing Gull after Thanksgiving. As I kept hopping south the weather and wind gods consulted each other briefly, decided they were done messing with me, and then smiled, spread their arms, and declared: “Welcome. Enjoy.”

The first little hop was from St. Simons Island to Fernandina Beach, a daytime jaunt in which I had the company of Bob, a sailor from New Jersey who is more or less living in St. Simons now (very small world note: Bob’s brother lives in a house on what used to be my grandparents’ farm in Chester, NJ. Seriously). We didn’t have a lot of sun, and the temps were still chilly. But we did have have the greatest gift you can enjoy on a sailboat: a perfect breeze. Thirteen knots from the northwest, so we could reach along at 7-8 knots with zero stress. It’s so nice to run into a passage like that every once in a while.

I was thinking to stay in Fernandina Beach for a few days before making the next short hop south to St. Augustine, where I had a Dec. 2 mooring reservation. But after looking at tide tables and forecasts, there was a strong argument for heading off the following evening. Doing so would mean a light wind, downwind passage, with clear skies. Leaving a day later would mean headwinds, and possible rain. I chose light downwind, which is normally a very slow way to proceed on a sailboat. However, apart from the fact that I am not on a deadline to be anywhere, a slow overnight sail was a perfect delivery mode as I didn’t want to arrive at the St. Augustine inlet, which can be a bit tricky, before sun-up. In short, I had good reason to go slowly.

Making decisions about what to do, and where to go, according to weather and tides (and not a zillion other artificial considerations) is an unusual way to exist. But there is something so simple and rewarding about conducting life in synch with the natural world, and trying to go with the flow instead of against it. I am beyond lucky to do it so fully at the moment, but there are many ways to let the sun, moon, weather and natural rhythms of the planet into any life. Simply going outside more, riding a bike to get places, or walking more as a mode of transport automatically starts to connect you to weather and other natural forces. I have even seen research which concludes that going barefoot, and feeling the ground directly with your feet, increases happiness (how could it not?).

So it is hard to convey how deeply content and at peace I felt when I raised the anchor in Fernandina Beach and sailed off toward St. Augustine, catching the last of the ebb as light winds gently pushed Laughing Gull across flat water and the sun dropped toward the horizon in an explosion of orange and red. Just me, a calm sea, a well-found sailboat, and Pink Floyd on the stereo.

Perfect moments sometimes find you. While you know the bad moments will too, nothing can diminish the joy of lucking into, and experiencing, a surprise interlude of such beauty.

Overnight I threaded my way past fishing boats and cargo ships off Jacksonville, meandering along under mainsail alone. First, a brilliant Jupiter monitored my progress. Then a luminous orange ball ascended from the eastern horizon and a full moon took over, giving me enough light to roam around the boat and gybe multiple times without any headlamp.

Sunset over Fernandina Beach…

I arrived off St. Augustine inlet about an hour before sunrise, so hove-to and tried to sleep a bit. As soon as it was light, I went on in (the channel was well-marked this time) and found a spot to anchor. I was too wired to sleep during the day, so just pottered around the boat settling in and doing some cooking. But I went to bed around 8 pm, and slept for 10 hours. That felt pretty good, too.

St. Augustine floating neighborhood…

So, now I am in the anchorage in St. Augustine. I am not sure how long I will stay. But I don’t need to know. I have plenty to do in a charming town and onboard (#1 on my list: tracking down and fixing all leaks in the pressurized freshwater system!). And I want to try and get a bunch of writing done, because all this sailing around has less meaning and reward if it doesn’t generate some good creative output. I am sure, as with all migratory animals, that when a multitude of subtle and mysterious forces, both internal and external, say it is time to move on…I will heed the call and move on. Eventually.

Moment Of Zen: Snoring Seals (probably what I sounded like last night—click on image and turn sound on):

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