Sailing Through Clouds and the Persistence of Nothingness

Crew: Andrew, Lena, Neil, Sergey

Arcturus

The week leading up to this sail had been a rollercoaster of emotions; to put it mildly. Some news that I had received threw me into the midst of a dark emotional cloud… with some decisions to be made. So, as this dark cloud insisted on hanging over my head, I told it to go away and instead teamed up with the crew on the sunny morning of June 15th, a Thursday. Dealing with the decisions was going to have to wait, I was going sailing!

The Arcturus - a Beneteau 323 - was primed for action, thanks to Neal and Andrew's early bird schedule. The traffic, let's just call it the 'nightmare on wheels', but I made it... 20 minutes beyond my estimated arrival. My Uber driver was fun, eyeing me dubiously as I wrestled with an assortment of bags, camping gear and whatnot. He was initially too shy to pry about my end destination. But when curiosity won, I let him in on our impending boat adventure. His face lit up like a Christmas tree! He started bombarding me with queries about our sleeping arrangements, shower, food, water, etc.

It wasn't long before Sergey made his grand entrance. After finding room for what seemed to be a three-month-long food supply and ticking off all the checks to ensure that everything was shipshape, including that critical boat hook, we finally set sail from Boston. Taking off from Boston was such a hoot that we did it not just once but three times on this escapade!

Our adventure on the open seas was off to a good start - or so we thought. We exited the inner harbor, ready to take on the waves. Only to find out that we had to go back... the excitement turned to apprehension just as we approached Castle Island and noticed that the stay tethering the mast to the port side of the boat was flapping in the sea breeze like a flag of surrender! An immediate radio call to the BSC (Boston Sailing Center) put us on a U-turn, and we trekked back under power.

A solid 90-minute delay awaited us there, with the people from BSC bustling around to fix the mischievous stay on the spreader. Neil and I, not ones to waste an opportunity, dove into an ice cream shop in the North End while Sergey and Andrew decided to stay back, probably more amused at Eliza shimmying up the mast of our boat. And so, our sailing morning turned into a show, complete with ice cream!

Eliza fixing our spreader

Once Eliza was done, we cast off for the second time that day and were off again. Once more taking off the fenders and removing the sail ties.

Doing vs Being

As our newly repaired ship sashayed back into the waves, I lounged on the deck - the first fragment of our adventure felt a tad dull... except for the seal that we saw while exiting the harbor. But it's always like this initially, until the hypnotizing sound and motion of the water and the wind cradle you into a magical trance. I wanted to rescue myself with some distraction, as is my usual habit. However, this time, I chose to embrace the stillness. It's quite alright to just exist without the constant need of 'doing'.

Creeping our way towards Minot Light - or as the French would call it, "El Phare de Minot" (don't forget the French accent, it adds a dash of class!) - took us a little while. I was at the helm, feeling the boat's heart throb under my control. As the speedometer marked a 4.2, I felt the kind of victorious joy that only a sailor will understand. As the day bowed to dusk, we steered the boat towards Scituate. I could barely wait for day two!

Moi & El Phare de Minot - read it with a french accent, it's way more entertaining!

I've been pushing myself to read Sartre. I admit, I cheated and watched a video about him. I learned that one of his most significant points is against the idea of living in 'bad faith' (mauvais foi), i.e., living unauthentically. In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "I have to live like that sometimes, to keep a job, to act as a responsible adult." He's highly judgmental about simply going with the flow and allowing others to define who you are. The opposite of bad faith, “good faith” is to always choose to act and never concede to yourself that you had no option but to follow a particular path.

Interestingly, he also talks about nothingness in relationship to "being", which is like suspending our beliefs and biases. We struggle with sitting in this nothingness - we always want to believe something about ourselves and our identity in the world. It's difficult to accept that we have the freedom to act at every moment, to convert that nothingness into energy and create the person we can become. However, to create that person, we need to constantly act, which means we must stop accepting the person we were or the person that others expect us to be. Particularly, the concept of sitting in the nothingness, the stillness, was what I was striving for in that passage.

Upon reaching Scituate, a boat launch escorted us to our mooring spot. Sergey came alive at the helm, skillfully guiding us around the other boats. We had a bit of daylight left, making the delicate balance between day and night the perfect time to explore the city.

Scituate was adorable. We walked the town, laughing and immortalizing moments with quick snaps. There were an array of classic cars on display - it was fun. A charming city with stunning ocean views that allowed me to shake off the grim residues of my mental state back in Boston.

We indulged in a dinner to remember. Fresh salmon, seared to perfection by Sergey on our portable propane grill, paired with a side of rice - comfort food in the coziest place, our boat.

Scituate

Spinnaker and Rain

Morning greeted us in hues of orange and gold. Sergey and I, having chosen the deck as our bedroom and the stars as our ceiling, awoke to the spectacle of a glorious sunrise. A sight that tops my list when sailing overnight - the break of dawn. The tranquility, the silence... It somehow breaks through, sculpting memories from moments of nothingness. It's almost therapeutic, the beautiful freedom of life at sea.

Our second day of the journey saw us casting off towards Provincetown. However, the wind seemed to be quite uncooperative for our sailing endeavors. This gave us a brilliant idea! Time to unfold the spinnaker and dress our vessel in all its seafaring finery.

With no wind to wreak havoc, we puzzled over the unmarked clew and tack of our asymmetrical spinnaker amidst the calm seas. Sleeves rolled up, a bit of fussing around, and a YouTube video marathon later, we had finally cracked the enigma of which side was likely the clew and which side was the tack. It felt like victorious archaeologists deciphering an ancient script, we just had to look at the angles of the corners and pick the most obtuse one as the clew

Flying

We fastened the clew, tack, and head of the sail to the lines and halyard before hoisting it up. To our pleasant surprise, the first attempt was a wild success, screaming out beginner’s luck. We hauled the sock up the mast, paving the way for our brilliantly colored blue and yellow spinnaker to unfurl and ripple gracefully in the light breeze. The main sail was brought down due to shadowing issues, and we learned our lesson for next time - the optimum angle to the wind for spinnaker sailing should be maintained at about 120 degrees. Despite the initial hiccups, the spinnaker propelled us efficiently towards our destination of Provincetown.

Suddenly, nature decided to switch gears - the wind shifted, altering our course to one that wasn't quite as friendly to our spinnaker. With a tad bit of disappointment, we had to reel it in. As Provincetown peeked on the horizon, Sergey excitedly pointed to a whale painting her silhouette against the sky. She playfully revealed her fin a few times, spouted, and then, like a dream, she disappeared beneath the waves.

Whale!

But the marine mammal exhibit was not over! As we approached the tip of Cape Cod we noticed some lumps on the sand. With binoculars we soon recognized them as seals! And frolicking in the water!

Seals playing on the beach

Once there, Neil had luckily arranged for a two-night stay at a slip, forecasting that Saturday's expected rain and lifeless wind would prevent us from sailing that day. And so, our sailing day would become a Provincetown exploration day.

The marina was wide and quiet, a friendly sailor caught our lines as we arrived, serving a warm welcome and telling us about his adventure from Marblehead. The amenities were awesome! Showers, bathrooms, and a cozy nook with a fire pit and lounge chairs. Portuguese flags fluttered on the balconies and were suspended around the port - a telltale sign of an approaching Portuguese festival.

I have no idea what I was complaining about but it looks funny

Firepit

The crew ventured into town in search of a meal. We found a quaint waterside place, and after devouring our entrees, we huddled around the fire pit sipping red wine. The night ended with me as the first one to retreat, no dreams under the stars that night for the forecast promised rain.

Provincetown: Pilgrims Monument and Causeway

The night was wet and rainy so Sergey and I curled up in the salon. The drizzles carried on to the daybreak, but the persistent rain didn't deter us from our plans.

Off we ventured to the Provincetown Pilgrims Monument and Museum. As we ascended the funicular, my anticipation bubbled. From the mountaintop, the breathtaking views of Provincetown beneath us offered plenty of picture opportunities! Next, we stepped back in time exploring the museum. It was a kaleidoscope of fishing culture, complete with storytelling and intriguing imagery. Surprisingly expansive, it ended with a large model of the Mayflower, a spectacle that left me marveling for many minutes while the crew waited.

...

“We come on the ship they call The Mayflower We come on the ship that sailed the moon We come in the age's most uncertain hours And sing an American tune”

Post-tour, my stomach growled for sustenance. We contemplated a restaurant, but opted for a do-it-yourself sandwich back on the boat since the food would otherwise be spoiled. After lunch we plotted our next adventure, nudged on by Andrew's energy.

The rain continued to fall around us as we embarked on a trek along the Provincetown causeway, a jumbled trail of stones bridging "Pilgrim's First Landing Mark" and Long Point. The rain-slicked rocks offered a slippery challenge, transforming our hike into a mini thrill ride. We stumbled and clumsily made our way to the other side of the mile-long causeway. There, sitting lonely atop the trail, was an old boat affectionately named "Gramps." I contemplated commandeering him for our return if only I had some fiberglass to patch him up. Alas, I did not.

Provincetown

Andrew brought us to a large empty beach and the Wood End Lighthouse. A group of two seals were curious about us, taking breaks from their surf-dancing to investigate the humans who dared to enter their territory. Rain subsided by the time we reached the lighthouse, so we paused to snap a mini photoshoot. Back on the causeway, we found the high tide receding, revealing a sandy route ready to be explored.

Shoes off | Seal

Kicking off our shoes, we carried on through the salty water and squishy sand, occasionally stopping to check out the crabs scuttling. The leftover tide eventually cut our sandy journey short, forcing us to climb back onto the causeway. But thanks to Sergey's eagle eye for route-finding, we navigated it easily.

After a day brimming with adventure, we returned to an abuzz Provincetown, its streets bustling with happy and proud faces. The crew shopped, soaking up the atmosphere before retreating to our boat sanctuary. Chef Andrew prepared a dinner – one delicious sauté that put a satisfying end to an exciting day.

Making dinner

The Engine

We woke up to another rain-spattered morning. With the sweet smell of coffee and fluffy allure of breakfast pancakes in the air, we cleaned ourselves up and set off on a new adventure heading north at around half past nine. Before leaving, we did a bit of clean-up, pumping-out and refilled our water supplies. There was a lively buzz of excitement in the marina. A boat race was set to take off, a regatta from Provincetown to Marblehead, with several participants already dashing off with their spinnakers fluttering in the wind. The morning arrived with a little bit of breeze, just enough for us to enjoy a leisurely sail on a close haul. However, despite our exciting start, unexpected engine issues came out of the blue, leaving us in a spot.

Adding to the drama, two of our boat-adventurers, Sergey and Andrew, suddenly succumbed to seasickness. Sergey, usually our boat-problem solver, was rendered helpless, leaving me to play detective in the engine room: I, a person who has an extreme case of engine-illiteracy, rifle through a labyrinth of mechanical parts, guided by a voice on the phone (Jim) who might as well be speaking klingon.

Estimating our Fuel

With guidance, luck, and a winch handle (basically a bigger lever), I managed to access the back of the engine, and alas, disproved Jim's theory about the emergency switch being stuck. Following this, Jim suggested a more complicated exercise of checking for fuel by bleeding the lines, but I was in over my head. I retreated to the cockpit and did some breathing exercises to avoid ending up like Sergey and Andrew.

Managed to find the emergency shut off valve

The idea of flying the spinnaker flashed through my mind. However, considering our under-staffed, unwell crew situation, especially with Sergey incapacitated who earlier had helped me rig the mighty thing, it seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Determined and with no other option but to sail ourselves back to Boston and the BSC (my apologies to Sartre, but sometimes the other option is not an option), we kept floating along with only the main and the jib up. Luckily, the calming effects of the breeze and the sails worked their magic and helped Sergey and Andrew regain some health. Andrew bravely tossed his bucket aside and took over the wheel while Sergey managed to pull himself together enough to help me hoist the spinnaker. There's something truly uplifting about seeing it majestically unravel against the sky. As luck would have it, that thing made us move along at 5 knots, even without the main sail, much faster than we anticipated.

So, were we really out of options? Let's play this out in the way Sartre would. In the grand scheme of things, I think the answer is: yes, we were. There was a clear set of constraints around us. I believe even Sartre would agree that the fact we're humans and not, let's say, whales or birds, does create certain constraints and limiting our options in that particular instance. Furthermore, since we are responsible members of society, and we enjoy sailing and do not want to get kicked out of the sailing club, we obviously could not abandon the boat and let it drift towards the rocks.

However, on a smaller scale, we did have options. We could have chosen to ignore the direction of the wind and not set our sails correctly. That was an option -- not a clever one, but an option nonetheless. We could have gone back to Provincetown, but that did not seem like an appealing option. On a microscale, we had numerous options, just like the waiter that Sartre describes in his book as living in "bad faith" because he succumbs to societal expectations. But, on the microscale, he is exercising his options, even if Sartre disagrees. Perhaps he's choosing the option of putting aside some savings instead of buying a beer or a pack of cigarettes so that he can contribute to his parents' retirement.

Looking a Little More Energized

As dark clouds painted the sky around sunset, and made El Phare de Minot resemble Mordor and the eye, we took the spinnaker down and set our eyes on the Graves light to navigate our way to Boston -- many hours away still -- slowly but surely inching closer. The only thing on our agenda as we navigated into the dark moonless night was to avoid lobster traps and stay awake. Unfortunately, I lost that last battle a few times and, next thing I know, I'm deep asleep in the cockpit with Sergey trying to tell me that I needed to trim the jib.

The eye of Mordor

At around 00:30, the tidal current that had carried us forward all the way toward castle island even in moments when the wind died, had now turned against us and started carrying us back. Quickly, Sergey and Neil inflated the dinghy and tried to give us a push. It worked for a few minutes but then, even the dinghy's motor failed! In a twist of fate, a breeze sprouted up as Neil was trying to re-start it, and we moved forward again, just enough to make it to the marina.

Towing the boat with the dinghy

When we finally reached the dock, which we could not tackle without a motor (although Andrew tried, but we were coming in at a wrong angle) Sergey showcased his brilliance by suggesting we tie ourselves to a moored boat and manually pull ourselves up to the dock. Exhausted, proud and relieved, we docked and settled for sleep at around 2.30AM, possibly after a small meal, though I forget the details I was too drunk with sleep.

Made it!

Rockport: Come in we’re open … Sorry, we’re closed

Rose-tinting our glasses on, we waltzed into the new day. Coffee was brewed, and then there was a “good morning folks” coming from the deck. It was our good old friend, Jim from the Boston Sailing Center (BSC). He stepped onboard to inspect our motor. "Needs fuel, folks!" he blurted, busting our stress bubbles from yesterday's wild trip. We could've easily refueled in Provincetown, if only the fuel gauge hadn't been so sneaky in showing full. Reminded us of an important survival hack: never put blind faith on a fuel gauge that's showing full but is bizarrely static!

“Needs fuel, folks!”

Jim saved the day with a quick fix. He stirred some life into both our motors (dinghy + sailboat), left us with some fuel, and off he went. With supplies mustered while Jim was doing his magic, we cast off from Boston, for the third time in our voyage. Powered by some really good wind, we relished a silky cruise to Rockport. Amidst all the excitement, I managed to take some deep nap time. Waking groggy, I was informed of the sudden change of plans to make progress toward Rockport instead of Gloucester as originally planned. Fine by me - the wind was blowing and the seas were comfortable, it was a perfect sailing day!

Nap time

As we sailed by Marblehead, reminiscent of the quaint miniature house at the breakwater's end, the wind's push and an upbeat spirit propelled us towards our new destination - Rockport, a place I had only heard of. Mistakenly thought it'd be a bustling city like Gloucester, turned out it was a peaceful town tucked away. Navigating into the marina through a tiny slit, we made our way into the floating dock that the team had booked. A couple of women across from the dock were filming us, but we missed the opportunity to add their movie to our repertoire. We could've exchanged stories if we had their emails!

Marblehead breakwater and the tiny house || Hello Sunshine

As our dinghy, now nicknamed the "Surfer Dude", pulled us to the shore, propelled by Neil and Andrew’s rowing, we huffed and puffed our way up to a breathtaking vista, atop the yacht club house, because the tide was at its lowest, 9ft deep. Soaked in the view, clicked some photographs but then came the stomach growl for food! Unfortunately, Rockport chose to take the day off on Juneteenth, which was awesome of them! Greeted by the comedy of a tantalizing "Come In, We're Open" sign outside a restaurant only to find a "Sorry, We're Closed" sign at the doorstep, we explored further to no avail. Instead of hoofing it 4 miles to Gloucester, where some restaurants were still open, we took to our mobile kitchen on board.

Row, row, row your boat

Neil's Boston-bought empanadas, enjoyed under the night sky in the cockpit and a curious concoction of potatoes, tuna and curry tantalized our palates completely. Or maybe we were simply starved...The round trip to Boston also conveniently refreshed our spirits cabinet, a Port wine for dessert and leftovers of scrumptious Portuguese pastries from Provincetown just hit all the right notes to end our day in the water!

Dinner

Wild Anchorage & Deer

Waking up to an overcast day, I stuck my head through the companionway in the hopes of a colorful sunrise but all I saw was Sergey in deep slumber in the cockpit. For our morning routines, we dove into a “bulky” omelet to finish all the eggs, peppers, parsley and cheese. With adventure in our eyes, we set our sights on traversing the Annisquam River. After a fun sail around pigeon cove towards Ipswich bay, it was time to motor down the river (or was it up the river?). As we attempted to furl the jib, things went a bit topsy-turvy. Provincetown PTSD struck again! The jib wouldn't furl or unfurl, forcing us to untangle the sheets around the forestay to fix it. Just to be on the safer side, Sergey wrapped a few more turns of the furling line around the furler.

As we were tackling this, a giant cloud came down upon us with a heavy shower. Yet, the Annisquam River crossing was an enjoyable one, as we were flanked by the shoreline on both sides, while our gadgets stayed dry indoors, so we ended up not taking a lot of pictures. Wish we could've captured the funny floating homes, but the rain preferred us to just enjoy the moment firsthand.

Three bridges were to be passed - the first one was a breeze as it was high enough to us, but the other two needed a bit of orchestration. A quick radio call to the operator of the first, and the bridge opened up for us without a whisker of waiting time. My first experience of such an event! I nabbed a time-lapse of the bridge opening as the rain obeyed our wishes and took a breather. A ditto situation unfolded at the second bridge, but with a twist - a lot more traffic that had stopped for us. I felt mighty responsible for the "traffic jam" that had formed with at least 10 cars waiting for the bridge to close! Apparently, this bridge was also infamous for strong currents and amateur sailors getting stuck without enough power to cross them, which makes for a fun Instagram feed (link here). Glad we escaped the drama due to Neal and Andrew’s proper planning!

Time Lapse Opening the Bridge

Mooring just outside Annisquam, we enjoyed our penultimate lunch on the boat, before setting out towards Salem with good wind. Looking around for some right whales, encouraged by Andrew and Sergey's past encounters in those waters, we continued our journey.

Looking for Right Whales

Arriving early near Salem Sound, we decided to explore Great Misery Island. Mooring our boat in a slightly dicey and shallow spot while Sergey took a refreshing dive and the rest of us watched some geese families go by. Sergey helped us move over to a new moring ball before exploring by sliding into the dinghy and rowing to another ball with our line. Ready for the night lowering of the tide, we hopped onto the dinghy and rowed towards the island. A tranquil meadow welcomed us, where a deer was leisurely grazing. As we tried to capture the serene moment, the deer got spooked and in an instant, we saw a flash of about ten deer sprinting across. Sadly, the photo op was missed!

Us and the Other Guys

Following a fun tree-climbing session, beach exploration and a peaceful walk along the shoreline, the setting sun beckoned us back to our vessel for some sundowner celebrations.

Deer | lighthouse and a sailboat

tree climbing

We were treated to a breathtaking sunset and decided to spend the night at our quiet mooring field, accompanied by a solitary boat from Salem. Our dinner was a challenge to polish off all the perishable food and bread we had stocked. It turned out to be an exciting first night in the wild, far away from the hustle and bustle of any city.

Sunset

Racoon and Skeleton Shrimp

Another dawn and, yes, the early bird catches the worm, or in my case, one heck of a sunrise. Pre-dawn at 5, I got up to snap a few photos of the spectacular symphony of colors making the sky their canvas. With my duty as morning photographer fulfilled, I burrowed back into the sleeping bag, catching a couple extra winks.

5AM

A couple of hours later, the crew was all stirring, breakfast was made and coffee brewed. We were sitting in the cockpit when Neil, eyes wide, pointed out a raccoon across the water, rummaging around the rocks. Taking turns with binoculars, we observed this tiny adventurer, starting his day with a free spirit just like us. Feeling inspired, Sergey and I took the plunge – into the water that is. A little chilly slap didn't mar the invigorating experience. How could I resist when I had my fins and snorkeling gear just waiting for a dip?

Racoon

After the swim and with everybody ready to go, a minor hiccup ensued – Sergey accidentally leaving our docking line on the mooring ball as we attempted to sail off the mooring field. So, we had to power up the motor again to retrieve it. Case closed, we set off for Boston. The wind was generous, and our sails billowed with optimism as our towels dried on the life lines, mirroring our content sailing.

Deflating the dinghy

As we approached Boston, we seized the time and stopped at Peddocks Island. Adding a sprinkle of education to our adventure, we had Sergey teaching Andrew the art of flying the spinnaker. He had been eager to use the Spinnaker one more time. The lesson, however, took a rocky turn with a twisted sail that ended up in the water. Abandoning the wet sail, we retracted the rebellious spinnaker just in time for our docking at Peddock's under my helms(wo)manship.

Eager, but careful, I floated us towards the mooring ball so slowly it felt like we were in a slow-motion movie. But we made it. Under sail. Me at the helm! The cherry on top of the cake was Sergey's find of "Skeleton Shrimp" all over the mooring line - these guys captivated our attention before we settled down for the last boat meal.

Skeleton shrimp

Feeling the nip in the wind, no one volunteered for a dip this time around. Soon after, we resumed our journey to Boston. A quick detour to the fuel dock for some refueling and pumping-out, and we were back on track. The pit stop came with an unexpected audience, lazing around with their beers on lounge chairs. A strange spot for lounging, but hey, as long as they're having fun!

Finally, we slipped into our harbor berth, offloaded our gear, and were all done before 5PM. Ending on a high note, we clinked our (plastic) glasses of rum together in a final toast to our epic adventure and crew. Everyone parted ways, embarking on their own voyages of Uber rides back home, but we held onto the shared memories.

Disembarking

Group Picture with all the props of the adventure

A week and a half has passed since the adventure and the dark cloud has returned. However, true to Sartre's philosophy, I am aware that I always have options, even if at the microscale. The trip, paired with the experience of accepting the "nothingness", the gradual embrace of the sea and the sun, living on our own time, living off the grid with people whom I care about and who care about me, helps me see through the clouds even at their darkest. Indeed, merely writing this blog post and sifting through the photos and videos is enough to keep the cloud from taking hold. Resolution may take a while and, as Sartre pointed out, it's healthy to strive toward being my true self and maintaining authenticity, even if that means living with the anguish of uncertainty.