Pro tip: granite rocks don't budge

 In the years leading up to moving aboard Positive Waves, I watched videos of a Boreal transiting the southern ocean--Sir Ernst sailed west from the south Pacific to Patagonia; I watched vlogs of sailboats in rough conditions -- s/v Delos in the Indian Ocean; I read the book Storm Stories by John Kretschmer -- lessons learned from a career working as a delivery skipper. After 3 years of open ocean sailing aboard our 27' sailboat and 3 years of reading books and watching vlogs, I felt ready to sail the world on our new Boreal. At least I thought I was. No big shocker, it's a lot different actually sailing your boat with your kids on board in rough weather than it is to watch (from the comfort of your couch) other people sail their boats.  

After some less than ideal moments aboard Positive Waves, I am recognizing that my perception of my own risk level versus what I am actually comfortable with are at odds with each other. In other words, I think I am tough as nails and can handle whatever the ocean throws at me, but, in practice, I'm often fearful and more cautious than is perhaps necessary. This fear can get in the way of actually sailing the boat or maneuvering in close quarters. Some fear is a good thing, but paralyzing fear is deterimental to safe seamanship.

In the three years we lived and sailed extensively on Whisper, I can only name two moments when I was actually scared: 1) when approaching a reef anchorage on the windward side of Antigua we misjudged our location on the chart vis-a-vis in real life and almost ran hard aground on a reef, and 2) sailing north up the Chesapeake Bay and getting caught in a thunderstorm with lightning so close that we saw it hit the water and made my skin tingle. We've been on Positive Waves for less than one year, with only a few of those months actively sailing, and I can name at least four times when I've been frozen with fear. Thankfully, Hans seems to never experience a lack of confidence and when I fall back he jumps in and does the heavy lifting.

A certain level of fear is beneficial on a sailboat--it keeps you on your toes. Fear also plays a crucial role in pushing me out of my comfort zone, which is a big reason why I've chosen to live the cruising and sailing life. When I am pushed out of my comfort zone I have to take risks, I have to challenge myself, and I have to do things that make me scared or uncomfortable. And it is that precise act of taking risks that builds my confidence and prepares me for the next set of challenges. People often say to me, "you're so brave, I could never do what you're doing," but I think, "no, I'm not particularly brave, just committed." I'm committed to the rewards of the cruising lifestyle so I'm willing to take the risks. And the more risks I take, or more challenges I face, the more I build up my confidence bank, ready to face the next challenge.

My confidence bank, however, is pretty low right now. Just like I can build confidence steadily, like building a house of wooden blocks one after another, it is also easy to erode that confidence. It is very easy to focus on being scared and feed that feeling, whereas it takes a lot of willpower and conscious thought to not be scared.

I am not at all comfortable with tying the boat up to rocks. Big, solid, non-moveable granite rocks. Rocks that don't bend or budge, it's the boat that has to move. (Or bend or dent. Shudder.) And the more I have decided that I don't like tying up to rocks, the more nervous I get when we approach an anchorage. Fear begets fear and I've basically given myself permission to be scared. 

Our first few weeks back on Positive Waves was the epitome of cruising: high highs and low lows and days that flew by. The islands on the west coast of Sweden are pure granite, formed hundreds of thousands of years ago. The rocks go straight down into the sea and it's often 10 meters deep just a stone's throw from shore. Anchoring (something we do very well) is often difficult or impossible due to the depths and also the small space between the islands (not enough swinging room). The local practice is to tie up to the rocks. No need for a dinghy and easy island exploration and socializing for happy hours and barbecues. It seems great in theory, but is much harder in practice, especially when neither Hans nor I have very much experience and our boat isn't set-up for bow-to mooring. Most Swedish boats have a stern anchor mounted on the transom that is readily deployed with a long rode. The idea is that you pick out your spot on the rocks, aim the bow and as you're slowly motoring in, then drop the stern anchor. When the bow gets close to the rocks, someone will hop off the bow and secure a line to the eye bolt that is already in the rock (placed by a sailing club or a previous sailor). The stern anchor digs in, the bow line holds you in place. Easy peasy, right? Not so much when your boat doesn't have a stern anchor ready to go, nor a bow that has an easy hop off pulpit. 

We've had to be creative to secure PW for the night. Sometimes we anchor and then tie a few lines ashore to prevent us from swinging around (that's for tight spaces); other times we'll tie up alongside so we can hop off the boat amidships. Usually we still have to tie a stern line or row an anchor out to hold us from swinging. When it was particularly busy at a group of islands outside of Gothenburg we found a spot where we were able to drop the bow anchor and reverse the boat toward the rocks. Our friend Fredrik and I stood on the stern platform ready to jump off with lines to secure to eye hooks. One constant with boating is that you always have to think two steps ahead from the present. If the wind switches, where will the boat lie? Our lack of experience, our big boat, and preparing for all eventualities often leads us to tying the boat up to the rocks with a spiderweb of lines. Most Swedish boats simply have the stern anchor and a bow line; we're tied up for a gale. But I certainly sleep well at night!

Contemplating swimming in 20C/68F water when air temps are 25C/77F.

Sailing, cruising, sailing with kids, being out in the elements, being intrinsically linked to nature and directly affected by the weather--all of these factors have a huge learning curve. Just because I've sailed before, doesn't mean I know what I'm doing now. Or maybe I do know what I'm doing but it doesn't mean I'm always comfortable or at ease. I know from experience that with more practice and more time, it will become easier. In the meantime, we'll keep exploring new places, flying the sails in different combinations, sailing in all weather, anchoring in new places, and working together. And I'll try to talk myself off the ledge of fear and spend more time building my confidence.

Because all the hard work always pays off. After an invigorating sail (with maybe some queasy stomachs), after spending over an hour tying the boat up, after feeling nervous or scared or uncomfortable, we get the ultimate payout--our floating home has safely delivered us to a place only accessible by boat. Wild nature,  undeveloped and rugged landscapes with nary a house, car, or store in sight. I'll keep tackling my fear, I'll keep building my confidence because the rewards are so great.