Smooth Seas Don't Make Skillful Sailors

Isla Mujeres, Mexico: back then, a quiet island of postcard perfect beaches, ramshackle houses and modest restaurants serving cheap local fare-a paradise for two broke travellers reluctant to return to the land of ice and snow. We dug our toes in powdery soft sand contemplating our options. Finding none, we headed into town for something to eat. That’s when we saw it. 

On an unassuming sheet of lined paper, the bold image of a ship in full sail beckoned: ‘Sail for free. No experience necessary. German tall ship SS Pippilotta bound for Cuba, Bermuda, The Azores, and finally…Hamburg, Germany.’ We looked at one another with excitement, “we have no experience! Let’s check it out!” I’m still not sure why those particular words resonated so strongly with us - perhaps it was the realization of a once in a lifetime chance. Maybe it was the thrill of boldly choosing the unexpected path that is often the gateway to true adventure. After all, I had never even been on a sailboat before. Why not now?

We met the captain and his German crew at the appointed time and place, a nondescript cafe facing the turquoise sea. With his bushy beard and his shaggy, wild hair, Captain Hardwick laughed heartily. “No doubt you’ve all heard about the romance of the sea,” he said. “Well forget about it. There is no romance of the sea. If you decide to come aboard, you will have some of the best days of your life on this boat. But trust me, you will also have some of your worst.” Truer words have never been spoken.

We gathered our belongings from our grungy hostel and moved on board for a few weeks of work and play - mornings of labour and afternoons of leisure, snorkelling in crystalline waters and drinking beer on sunset drenched beaches. Otis Redding’s Dock of the Bay was the unofficial anthem of our island life. When the day to embark finally came we were ready, and we prepared to greet the wind. The rhythmic chug of the engine reverberated through the deck until that magical moment when it was silenced and our ears were filled with the whoosh of sails and the sigh of waves. The little island slowly slipped from sight as our motley crew stood on deck, each lost in our own thoughts—three Germans, three Americans, two Canadians, a Dane, and a Norwegian, bound together by chance, and by a destination that, as it turned out, was yet unknown.

Two nights later, off the coast of Cuba, a vicious storm blew up almost out of nowhere and all ten of us were on deck, fighting against the wind and the sea, desperately trying to wrest control of the ship from the storm’s grasp. I was ordered to go to the helm to take over trying to steer, which meant I’d be walking along the exposed side of the ship. I saw the life jacket with the lifeline attached and decided I didn’t care how much of a novice I might look to the more seasoned sailors aboard, this was all too new and overwhelming and I quickly locked myself to the ship. A moment later, a rogue wave hit and I was swept off my feet, then slammed against the railing before the line snapped taut, anchoring me back from the edge. 

It was many years before I allowed myself to think about what would have happened had I not secured myself that night in the heaving waters off the Cuban coast. As it would turn out, the SS Pippilotta would give me two more opportunities to seriously, and without any sense of hyperbole, contemplate my own mortality, wondering if the violent waters of the North Atlantic would be my final resting place, and if my family would ever even find my body.

Yes, we had many great times. I had the opportunity to get to know the ocean and its many moods in the most intimate way. It was always there, so much bigger than even this massive ship, the only thing rivalling it, the sky. For days, weeks, we existed sandwiched between the two, often in awe, always at their mercy. It can be an almost transcendent feeling to be dwarfed by such beauty, like stepping into a grand cathedral or towering temple. It can also feel downright terrifying. This is what led three of our crew to abandon ship in Bermuda. And they left before it really got interesting. 

Twenty-eight days at sea with nary a glimpse of land. Eight metre grey-green seas. A broken rudder. Neils, the Dane, spinning the wheel helplessly as he shouted against the wind, “this ship is going to hell and taking us all with it!” Having survived that we then faced a twenty-five metre tall main mast wrenched from its rigging, swinging wildly and threatening to take the whole ship down. For eighteen hours we huddled together in the captain’s quarters with no food or water, waiting for rescue. Then finally, the blessed touchdown in a tiny Irish town. 

Throughout it all two things got me through: my own stubborn determination and Hardwick’s leadership. So strong, so courageous, so wise. In my darkest moments I reminded myself, Hardwick will get us through, I know it. I just have to trust. And do my part.

The original plan was to repair the ship in Ireland and then sail through the English Channel to Keil, where Hardwick would help us find under-the-table work. However, after much contemplation we came to the difficult decision to leave the boat there in Castletownbere. We had been completely stretched to our limits by the experience of being disabled in a stormy North Atlantic and rescued at sea. I felt disappointed in myself but I honestly didn’t think I had it in me to manage the difficult navigation of the English Channel. 

Hardwick was incredibly understanding, saying that we had already proven ourselves. ‘You know,’ he said, “I thought Americans and Canadians were all the same, but the Americans were weak, and you were strong.” Two of the Americans had jumped ship in the early days of the voyage, and the one who stayed had essentially lost his mind, pushed to the brink by the endless ocean and unrelenting storms.

Captain Hardwick then looked me in the eye and declared, ‘You are a true sailor.’

To this day that is one of the highest compliments I have ever received. And so, in my darkest moments, when it feels as if I will drown beneath the weight of life's challenges, I take a deep breath and remind myself: I am a true sailor.