Gee's Sailing Diaries: Part 8

What is love, actually?

Everything and nothing happened all at once since the equator crossing. We were now around the Philippines, through the Luzon Strait and on the home stretch to Ha Long Bay across the South China Sea. We had storms (some of the boats had a near miss with a water spout), wind holes, almost every single sail we were carrying on deck within 24 hours, and no sail changes for days. There were no tactics and there were all the tactics. There was riding it out and there was chancing our arm. No sight of other life and then there was the fishing vessel aggression and buoy dodging and jellyfish glows. I had heard rumours of the chaos caused by the fishing fleets in the South China Sea, but seeing them first-hand was something else. Literally thousands of them. Being extremely territorial, despite very obviously being a sailing vessel and not a fishing vessel, we would routinely have strong green lasers shone directly at the boat by those wishing to defend their territory and their catch. To put it lightly, this is not appreciated when you’re trying to sail a boat through thousands of other vessels at night. They would hang nets between lines of buoys – some of which were not visible on GPS – and we would have to manoeuvre around them, sometimes rather aggressively, due to the limitations of the wind conditions and sailing compared to being under motor. There was even one occasion where the engine did have to be turned on and used in anger, as one particular vessel was aggressively and repeatedly attempting to alter our course, including cutting closely directly in front of us. For me, I remember this being the first time I held some genuine fear for what might happen on that boat. Thankfully, no damage was done and the engine repair continued to hold.

It had been thousands of nautical miles worth of racing and over three weeks of living together on CV21. There were birthdays, learning breakthroughs, lots of on-board quotes added to our 'Dirty Quotes' whiteboard (including several from yours truly), real-life games of Cluedo and frustrations too. For example, I was unfortunate enough to be helming twice in a row when we carried out an unplanned kite (spinnaker) drop. Spinnaker drops can be notoriously difficult as the sail can refill and, with such a massive surface area (and therefore also being quite heavy), it takes a well-oiled machine to get it down safely. It then needs to be checked (and repaired if necessary or possible) and packed, ready to hoist again at a moment’s notice without injuring someone or damaging the sail (we can't just go get a new one if it's damaged beyond repair and the right sail for the right conditions is critical!). It’s difficult not to feel responsible in some way, despite repeated assurances that it was the fault of the conditions and not the person behind the wheel! It’s hard, regardless, to not want to be better. To try harder next time. To not have bad days. To not let the crew down. Though I did manage two Cluedo ‘kills’ by handing a specific individual a specific item in a specific area at a specific time, so, you know, swings and roundabouts!

But amongst all of that, was 14^th February, otherwise known as St. Valentine’s Day. Some crew members don't celebrate it. Others had scheduled deliveries to their loved ones back home and opened cards that had been given to them by partners when they left shore. Many sent and received emails that included acknowledgement and reiterations of their appreciation for the other. And stand-by watch dutifully baked currant buns with little notes containing nautical-themed pick-up lines. I enjoyed listening to stories about how individuals met their other half and finding out about their supporters’ most endearing qualities. I was happy to listen to stories of their adventures together and the things that had brought them closer to each other. But my favourite part was listening to the crew talking about when and where they were next seeing the friends and family they treasure. Without fail, their faces would light up, excitement was obvious in their tone and it lifted the energy of the boat as a whole. It reminded me of the scene from a well-known Christmas film of the actual arrivals gate at Heathrow airport, played out to ‘God Only Knows’.

The kindness of strangers is something that I have always found fascinating. I’ve had many encounters over the years where people have bent over backwards or gone out of their way to help me. To make sure I was alright. To show me that I’m not alone. And on reflection, there have also been many moments where I’ve offered my help, support, or just a few kind words to strangers too. The crew on CV21 started out as strangers to me. But after crossing two seas together, I think ‘stranger’ can probably be reframed to something more akin to ‘friendship in progress’. There is a lot of love on that boat. It may not be romantic love but it’s there all the same. In the perfecting of the onion gravy with dinner or the unprompted re-filling of someone else’s water bottle. The checking in if someone is unusually quiet or has a niggle and the arm around the shoulder when homesickness rears its head. In remembering someone’s exact tea preferences and the encouraging words I received during spinnaker helming since those back-to-back drops.

And I suppose it's also probably about time to talk about food. I have been plant-based for several years now. It's an ethical decision I made after years of research but it's a choice, not a necessity due to health or allergens, for example. This means I can be flexible with it if I want or need to and I have always maintained that I will never knowingly be rude to others based on my decision to eat only plant-based foods. On the boat, I was willing to eat vegetarian instead of vegan as I understand how difficult and time-consuming it can be to check ingredients and find alternatives for just one person, let alone when you're trying to cook for 18. But to add to that, I was the only vegetarian on the boat and other than two accidents – during both of which I was apologised profusely to – everyone was very conscious of my preference and was extremely accommodating. I recognise hugely that when people make an effort with things like that, it is a show of love. I am often sheepish about that and brush it off or say that it doesn't really matter. But in the future, I'm going to try harder to show my appreciation of others' consideration and respect for my choices as part of my quest to be better at accepting love. Food is such a huge part of culture and community. They don't say that the way to a person's heart is through their stomach for nothing!

But aside from food, there is one other thing that stands out for me. Almost since the first moment I stepped on board, my favourite part of the everyday routine on CV21 was not making the boat go fast, problem-solving, sleeping or even eating, despite how great all of those things are! My favourite part of the day was actually rousing the next watch from their slumber. I think it’s in these few moments between sleep and consciousness that one gets a glimpse of the best of someone. Of who people really are. On CV21, I woke people with a start, with a stretch, and with a smile. I had thumbs-ups, I had blank stares and I had groans. And in return, I was woken with a single word, with a gentle shake and mid-dream too. But it was always done gently. With sympathy. With empathy. And where possible, we let people sleep in, too. Without fail, there was always a ‘thank you’ at the end of it, and everybody did it in their own, unique way. And now that the race from Australia to Vietnam was coming to an end, I knew that those moments were what I was going to miss the most from this experience. 

I suppose in a way, it turns out that love, actually, really is all around.