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.

Aladdin's Magic Carpet Ride

Crew: Andrew, Lena, Sergey

A few weeks ago, a fellow sailor expressed his feelings about sailing as “the closest you’ll ever get to Aladdin's magic carpet ride”, and that sentiment stuck with me. It feels so right that I decided to name this blog entry after that quote.

Zeitgeist and Henri

Way back at the beginning of 2021, Andrew reached out to the crew asking about our appetite to schedule a weeklong cruise in the New England area. The appetite was there and after researching different charter companies—and realizing that everything available seemed to be already booked—the crew converged on booking the Zeitgeist—a Jeanneau 410 owned by the Narragansett Sailing Charters company—for the last week of August. Little did we know how meaningful our chosen date would become to many New Englanders, ourselves included.

As August rolled by, the excitement was palpable. I pulled my camping backpack from the closet early in the hopes that that would help time move faster. And then, a few days before the 22nd, when we were scheduled to cast off, the weather forecast issued a warning for a hurricane that completely changed the course of our vacation: Henri was headed straight toward the coast of Rhode Island. The 20th and the 21st were tense as I obsessively watched the weather forecasts to understand where and when the hurricane would hit the coast. Andrew found and shared a quote about Henri: “This is the most serious hurricane risk in New England in 30 years, since Hurricane Bob in 1991”. Bob the hurricane rang a bell—its effects had been described in a book that I read recently—Coast of Summer by Anthony Bailey—where the author describes an eerie and desolate landscape and seascape during and after it. Anthony had been sailing a course that I was hoping we could partially replicate. Bob had made landfall in Block Island and Newport on August 19th, 1991. Henri was downgraded to a tropical storm and made landfall in Westerly, Rhode Island on August 22nd, 2021.

The forecast did not bode well for our adventure.

The charter company first told us to not show up at the dock in Barrington until late Monday as they would need to assess the damage. Monday morning we heard the bad news from Andrew: the Zeitgeist had been damaged, it would take at least two weeks to repair. All sorts of feelings went through my head as I read those words—denial, anger, depression and acceptance—the only one I skipped from the "five stages of depression" was bargaining because… what would be the point?

Andrew went through the stages apparently faster than I did because while I was still processing, he asked the crew if we would like to do a shorter 3-day cruise using one of the boats from the Boston Sailing Center. We did and that’s how we ended up in a shorter cruise with a smaller crew on the Aeolus taking off from Boston and sailing to Gloucester instead of our original plan of taking off from Barrington and sailing to Long Island or Martha’s Vineyard.

Aeolus

It was drizzly in Boston when I woke up on Tuesday the 24th. Sergey picked me up and we drove to the BSC with all our gear. Andrew was already on the boat when we arrived and reported having checked for the dinghy, the stove and a few other things we would need. Sergey motored the Aeolus away from the dock and with the wind in my face, the disappointment slowly started to melt away. There was not a lot of wind in Boston Inner Harbor, and whatever wind there was was East / South East, thus requiring a few tacks on the way out. We made slow progress toward Castle Island and then toward Deer Island but as the big ships were numerous and in need to use the waters where we were trying to maneuver with whatever little wind we had, Andrew decided to turn the engine on.

Departure from Boston

We motored the Aeolus over to Middle Brewster Island, where we anchored, swam a bit and enjoyed a nice late lunch. We arrived around 2PM and took off around 3.30PM. We figured that the night might need to be spent at Nahant, if we were unable to make enough progress, or even in Boston Harbor if the wind was really disappointing.

Salem and fisherman

With less wind than I hoped for, but still enough for a steady progress of 2-3 knots, we continued on past Nahant, and I set my hopes on reaching Marblehead or Salem. I would have been fine with Nahant, but we carried on past it and continued on towards Marblehead. My mind was still processing the stolen opportunity to sail to Nantucket and back to Martha’s Vineyard, so spending the night anywhere that was not my bed in my apartment was fine by me. Although I have to admit that a harbor further away from Boston than Nahant would have been a nicer choice.

We arrived at Marblehead Channel around sunset. I was at the helm and aiming toward Children’s Island on a course that would allow us to fall off once we got close enough to the island. To the starboard I heard what appeared to be a tune played with bells. This turned out to be the red/green “FR” buoy which seemed to have been fitted with 3 or even 4 different tones creating a very enjoyable sound as it bobbed in the waves, almost like improvised music—“Sea-Jazz”. I regret not having recorded the sound but Andrew did capture it in a video.

Our lively discussion about how many tones we can hear.

A cat boat in front of us dropped her sail just before reaching Children’s Island, and we soon understood why—as we approached the area, the wind died on us as well, and it definitely felt safer to motor. We resisted turning on the engine a little longer and managed to cross between Marblehead Rock and the mainland under sail, which was an important milestone. We eventually did turn the engine on in order to arrive at Salem Harbor before it got too dark. To my surprise, the light green two-mast boat owned by Frank—whom I blogged about before—was still there! (It’s possible that it was there again, but from our previous conversation with him, his boat needed to be fixed in order to be sailed!) Later we learned that Frank was there too as we saw him in the distance at the stern of his boat—he waved, we waved, and that was the end of the interaction with Frank. What an interesting life he must have!

We saw the last rays on sunlight for the day as we approached Marblehead

The anchorage in Salem Harbor is in the vicinity of the quick green buoy marking part of the channel. We anchored not too far from Frank, and Sergey grilled the swordfish that he had brought from home. Andrew opened the bottle of Pessimist wine that he had brought. I saw a shooting star and some fireworks before falling asleep in the cockpit, under the stars, without a care in the world.

Quiet nights of quiet stars, Quiet chords from my guitar, Floating on the silence that surrounds us... This is where I want to be

Sergey's note: It was a very enjoyable evening, the conversation flowed, and we covered a lot of topics, ending up on a pretty in-depth discussion of various sci-fi authors, and while I was extolling the virtues of Peter Watts' "Blindsight", I heard a noise I didn't immediately recognize - after a quick investigation, we realized that Lena had fallen asleep in the middle of it all.

Andrew and I sat around and spoke for another 10 minutes, and then started winding down for the night as well. As Andrew was inspecting the boat, he called to me in a stage whisper, sounding alarmed. The combination of wind and current had been rotating the boat in weird ways, and apparently we got very close to an empty mooring ball which we had deemed far enough. Figuring that the anchor may have been dragging, we decided to tie the boat to the mooring ball - after all, it was very unlikely that someone would need it.

Andrew started pulling the mooring lines and told me, sounding even more alarmed, that I should bring my sailing gloves. As we continued pulling out the line together, I saw why: the mooring line was nasty. And not the usual "there is some gunk here" nasty, no. The line was thick and crawling with creatures, some looking like slugs and some writhing little legs and perhaps tentacles. I said - "Dude, it's alive," to which Andrew responded "...and it's looking at me!". Nevertheless, determined to keep the boat securely moored, we put a docking line through the loops and cleated it on the bow. Thinking that perhaps the spawn of Cthulhu could gnaw through the mooring lines in the middle of the night, I also took an extra line and attached it to the ball directly. Better safe than sorry.

Afterwards, before going off to sleep, we went back to the cockpit and poured some rum - it had to be done.

In the middle of the night I woke up and decided to check if our anchor was holding. Surprised, I noticed a mooring ball hitting the Aeolus on the starboard side and wondered if we had hit it while swinging. But then I saw the lines connecting us to the ball and decided that the guys must have done it and went back to bed.

I woke up again as the day was breaking and noticed some crawling things next to my “bed” in the cockpit. I didn’t know it then, but these were vestiges of the overnight adventure with the mooring ball. While we were drinking coffee and tea, we noticed a fishing boat circling our Aeolus. Unsure what they were up to, we waited and watched. They asked us what’s for breakfast and then asked if we had a storm anchor in the channel. We said we did though our intent had not been to anchor in the channel. Soon after that, they dropped their net in the water. They were apparently following a school of fish that they planned to circumscribe with their net. As they closed the gap in the net, a guy in a small motor boat that had been attached to the main boat started driving it in circles next to the gap, probably to scare the fish in the school to stay trapped inside the net instead of trying to escape through the opening.

My little fishing rod is no match to fishing with a net.

As they brought the net out of the water, I felt sorry for the fish for having been entrapped and their lives lost like that. I felt angry with the fisherman for not caring at all about removing hundreds if not thousands of fish from the sea with one fell swoop, way more than their small crew can eat. And yet I know that fishing like that is necessary in order for me to be able to go to the grocery store and buy dinner.

But the morning adventures with fishing were not over. As I was carrying on with cleaning the grill from the previous night, I saw another boat approach us as they were trolling for fish. At some point the guy shouted - “do you guys have an anchor out in the channel”. We did. Turned out his $50 lure had gotten caught in our anchor. He asked if we could help him get his lure back. As Sergey and I started raising the anchor, we realized that our anchor was not where we dropped it. Our anchor had dragged overnight and so the mooring ball coming within reach in the middle of the night—and Sergey and Andrew having the foresight to use it—was quite fortuitous.

Since we had already pulled half of the anchor line on board, we decided that we might as well pull the rest. The only thing left to do was to put away the grill and we could be on our way.

Onward to Great Misery Island

Great Misery Island Eggs

We decided to go for a swim at Great Misery Island. The breeze was back and we could sail all the way. As we approached the gap between Great Misery Island and Little Misery Island, we saw mooring balls, one of which we promptly caught and used to moor. When we looked in the water, however, we saw hundreds of some sort of creature floating around. We weren’t sure if it was safe to swim there. These creatures were semi-transparent with several pairs of white dots along a strap-like body. I tried to grab one using the boat hook but it fell apart and split in two. I tried again and this time was able to pull one of the creatures onto the boat. I carefully touched it with my finger to check if it would sting. It didn’t sting but it fell apart easily. I figured they must be eggs of some creature—presumably fish, possibly bluefish—but I still could not find the species that they belong to. I will leave the question open here for any professional or amateur marine biologist to figure out what they were.

Great Misery Island "eggs"

We decided that swimming in that water would not feel very nice and decided to inflate the dinghy instead to go visit the island. However, when Sergey and Andrew attempted to connect the foot pump to the dinghy valve, they noticed something was not right: they had brought the wrong pump! And it was the only one we had... The dinghy valve had a pushpin inside that needed to be pressed down in order to allow air to be pumped in. Our pump connector was a simple cylinder with no way to push the pushpin down while inflating. This required a little MacGyvering to fix—the spring from a clothespin did the trick: Sergey simply secured the spring inside the cylinder, which pushed the pin while inflating. It worked like a charm and soon we had our dinghy fully inflated and ready for adventure.

As we finished securing the dinghy on shore, Sergey reported to have seen a deer. There were a few ruins and an outhouse with an interesting architecture but what drew me the most were the mooring balls and beach on the other side of the island, which—judging by the transparency of the water in the beach—were not as crowded with the mysterious eggs as the place where we had moored. On the other hand, it was crowded.

Shenanigans in the ruins and the other mooring field.

After the island exploration, we went back to the Aeolus and as we were getting ready to cast off in order to motor to the other side of the island, a goose swam over and floated around our boat, clearly hoping we would throw some food into the water. As we motored away without complying with the goose tax, we saw him swim to another boat moored nearby and do the same thing.

Once in the north of Great Misery Island, we had a very nice swim off the mooring field and Sergey even snorkeled some. After lunch, which was accompanied by the grapefruit rosé that Andrew had brought, it was time to decide where to spend the night. We wanted to go further north but were unsure whether there would be enough wind the following day to return to Boston. We decided to head North anyway and depending on progress, decide on the way whether to proceed to Gloucester or spend the night in Salem again.

Snorkeling and the collector of the Goose tax

Gloucester

A nice breeze carried us almost all the way to Gloucester. On the way, Andrew told us that he had recently re-watched The Truman Show and as we were discussing the scene where Ed Harris’ character—the producer of the show—ramps up the wind toward the end of the movie to discourage Truman from going any further, our own wind stopped as if Ed Harris’ character decided that we had gone far enough.

Nevertheless, we persisted! by switching to diesel power. Pretty soon, Gloucester Harbor was in sight. As we approached, one of the most visible features of the harbor was the Eastern Point Lighthouse and the associated breakwater nearby called “Dog Bar Breakwater”. The breakwater was finished in 1905 as an aid to navigation since numerous ships had run aground in the reef that it now protects them from—Dog Bar reef [1]. The end of the breakwater is marked by the Dog Bar Breakwater Lighthouse, which, in spite of its important navigation aid role (preventing ships from crashing into the breakwater), it in fact looks like a tiny adorable house with a tower on stilts!

Dog Bar Breakwater Lighthouse

As the Aeolus approached the anchorage site in Gloucester Harbor, she started needing to compete for space with a lot of other recreational boaters. It didn’t help that her crew got slightly distracted taking photos of 3 gorgeous tall ships sailing in the harbor. As there was no room to anchor, Andrew called the harbormaster, who sent us to a mooring ball in Stage Head, an area much less protected than the inner harbor (I did feel some rocking from the waves later that night) but the only place where he had mooring balls available. Stage Head was otherwise gorgeous, quiet, next to a small cute beach and a great place to experience the sunset and the sunrise the following morning.

Two out of 3 tall ships and the view from Stage Head

Fortunately, the harbormaster office provided a free launch service—on the ride over to the Gloucester inner harbor we met a local woman who gave us some advice on where to grab dinner (and to not be tempted to grab dinner in one of the restaurants by the water). As soon as we arrived, we quickly made our way to a small Italian gourmet shop that closed at 7PM for reprovisioning. Finding the restaurants that the woman on the launch had suggested was easier than I thought as they were all in Main Street. We ended up eating at Oliver’s which had a table for us (indoors) and where we were able to recharge our phones—unlike other boats at BSC, the Aeolus was not fitted with a 12v charging socket, which meant that, after two days of taking pictures with my phone, it was quickly running out of juice.

The food at Oliver’s was amazing and by mistake they brought me a free glass of wine, which is always nice! Around 9PM we headed over to the launch dock so that it could take us back to our boat. Before heading to Stage Head, where the Aeolus was moored, the launch first dropped off people all over the inner harbor and watching all those people board their 40 footer gorgeous, fairly recent sailboats made me wonder about what I’m doing with my life and why I don’t have one of those myself!

Once back at the Aeolus I promptly fell asleep, once more in the cockpit under the stars. On nights like that, I’m always grateful to live on a planet with a transparent atmosphere and thus able to get a glimpse of the Universe just by looking up! If our species had evolved on a cloud-covered planet, we probably would not have developed space travel. We might even not have discovered the physics of lift that we rely on to sail the Aeolus upwind.

Trust Meditation and Blue Water Sailing

I woke up shaken by waves—probably wake waves from the morning boats—and could not go back to sleep so I got up, made coffee and came back to the cockpit in time to watch the sunrise, which was spectacular. We needed to start making our way back to Boston early as we had no idea if we had enough wind for the whole journey. However, we had to wait until around 8AM, which is when a breeze started to blow around us. The weather buoy closest to us (but still a few miles offshore) indicated WSW winds of 7.8 knots. That was good sailing weather so we took off from the mooring field and began our journey back to Boston.

Sunrise from Stage Head

As we cleared the Estern Point Lighthouse we heard someone on another boat scream “F****” very loudly. Looking around, we saw a lobster boat nearby… At first, I thought that he was talking with someone else in the cabin of the boat or over the radio, but upon closer inspection with binoculars he seemed to be alone and screaming a stream of obscenities while preparing his lobster traps. Sergey and I decided that this was probably some sort of scream therapy for anger management. We could still hear him 30 minutes later when we were well on our way offshore heading South.

Lena's Meditation: That first starboard tack offshore gave me a good opportunity to spend some time ruminating. I took the wheel and watched the telltales on the jib to help me decide if our heading was the best possible one. Having been cerebral (yes, a nerd) my entire life, I never understood why people find it enjoyable to spend hours doing work with their hands, whether that’s playing an instrument, painting, sculpting, etc. It occurred to me, a few months ago, while attending a painting class as part of a community building event at work, that the pleasure of doing manual work comes when one intentionally rests their awareness on the hands instead of the million thoughts and emotions trying to compete for her attention. I realized that steering the boat can provide a similar experience—just like the painter’s eyes act as a sensor that she uses to guide the painting, the telltales on the jib acted as my sensor to guide the steering. But that’s not all, I realized—if I were not steering toward optimal use of the wind and closed my eyes, I could hear the change in the sound the boat made while cutting through the water, I could sense the change of the wind pressure on my skin. I decided that I was not only the sensor that guided the boat, but the boat was an extension of myself.

Blue Ocean Sailing

The intent of steering offshore was to get enough distance (3 nautical miles) between the Aeolus and the shore so that we could open the holding tank and release its contents into the open ocean (the harbormaster at Gloucester had told Andrew that this was OK to do). When we approached the 3 mile mark, however, the wind died; lost in my rumination, I didn’t notice that at this point, where we had no wind and thus no forward motion, a wave turned us around such that the wind was behind me when it returned. Andrew, upon noticing this, shouted something and quickly snapped me out of my meditation. I corrected the course, and we were off again with enough speed to tack toward the southwest heading that would take us back to Boston (Unfortunately we could not figure out how to open the holding tank so the offshore excursion was fun but useless!)

Lena's Meditation: After handing the helm over to Sergey, I went over to the bow to continue my meditation. The rumination this time was about trust. At work, I have been learning a lot about trust. I decided a little over one year ago to accept an offer to work at a consulting firm, and this past year has been filled with learning to build trust. One of the most meaningful lessons that I have learned is that trust between two people cannot exist when there is an agenda being enforced. One book that I recently read—the Trusted Advisor—even proposes an equation for trust (I told you I was a nerd 🤓): Trust = ( credibility + reliability + intimacy ) / self-orientation. In layman terms, the authors observe that no matter how credible and reliable a person is, if they are too focused on their own agenda, trust becomes incredibly hard to build. I was skeptical when I first read this, the geek inside me shouted “This can’t be right, surely merit and credibility matter a lot more in building trust”. Nevertheless, I decided to try it anyway—partially out of desperation because I needed to start being more successful at learning to build my business. At every interaction, I started noticing how I brought my own agenda to the conversation, even if it was very subtle—for example, as someone who has been invited to be a keynote at a few conferences, I like to be treated / to feel like “the expert”. As a result, when I bring that mindset to a conversation, the result in often a monologue about my research whether the other person asked for it or not! Other instances of bringing my agenda to the conversation were less subtle and I’m too embarrassed to admit them out loud. But as a result, I started repeating to myself “suspend the agenda” every time I joined a conversation. Needless to say, the authors of the book were spot on. Until I became aware of my own conscious or subconscious agenda I failed to suppress it. I’m sure I still have some subconscious agendas leftover—I’m human and as a result I have needs and fears—but at least the ones that I am aware of are no longer sabotaging the trust that I want to build in my professional and personal relationships.

I came back to the cockpit where Sergey was relying on what he calls the “Iron Man”. This consists of locking the wheel and thus the rudder so that the ship stays on course instead of moving with the waves. He asked me to keep a lookout for lobster traps but I either didn’t hear it or was too lost in my ruminations. He in fact had closed his eyes and was falling asleep and thus not paying attention at all. As a result, nobody but the “Iron Man” was steering… Until I saw a lobster trap float by really close to our propeller on the port side and finally realized that nobody was paying attention to the avoidance of lobster traps (we had caught a lobster trap in our propeller before... twice !) This episode for me was a great example of the trust equation: Sergey needed a break from steering and asked me to be on the lookout but being lost in my thoughts (my agenda), I did not listen.

Steering with the Iron Man

Lena's Meditation: After I unlocked the wheel and got my bearings, I realized that trust is not only something that’s built between people—an archaic definition of trust, according to the Oxford dictionary, is hope or expectation. I like this definition because what I was doing at that exact moment was trusting or expecting the telltales to reliably tell me if I was optimizing for wind, trusting that the imobile rudder would keep us steering where we needed to go, trusting that I would see lobster trap floats before my propeller got tangled in them. Of course, with objects there is no agenda, they simply are what they are in spite of my temptation to give them roles and personalities. But trust is everywhere in sailing, even trust between the crew—I expect the crew to be forgiving when I make small mistakes or fail to notice something while steering, and I trust them to share the less enjoyable tasks such as cleaning the dishes and cooking the meals, etc. In a highly intimate environment like that of a 30ft boat, where personal space is limited, bringing an agenda to the boat, however unconcious--such as noticing the dirty dishes in the sink and not doing anything about it, or wanting to be “the sailing expert” or patronizing another crew member--(and there are many reasons why people do this to others) can break that trust in ways that can become, sometimes, unfixable...

In spite of the slow wind forecast (which was wrong) and the excursion offshore, it was only 2PM when we caught a glimpse of Boston! The wind had been kind to us in more ways than one—not only was it blowing at a reasonable speed but it was doing so from a direction that allowed us to arrive to Boston Harbor on a single tack. It felt like the best possible conditions we could have asked for.

Sergey, who was steering, went to the galley and asked me to steer so there I was at the wheel again relying on the “Iron man”. And then, for the second time on this leg of the journey, the wind died on me and a wave rotated my bow such that we were no longer pointing at The Graves Lighthouse, which had been our heading up to that point. Since the wheel was still stuck due to 'Iron Man' I had to first unlock the wheel before I could recover my bearings—-as a result of this delay, we accidentally jibed (not violently), which sent the boom flying over to the other side of the boat. This for me was again was a lesson in trust: while the wind blowed steady, I trusted the 'Iron Man' to keep the Aeolus on course. When the wind died, however, my trust that the 'Iron Man' would prevent a rotation--since the wheel was locked and thus the rudder, which I would use to rotate the move, was not moving--was eroded. I decided that the 'Iron Man' was not to be trusted in low-wind situations.

Sergey's note: I believe that this is about understanding the limits of trust. We have to rely on mechanisms in order to scale things (here, to go further on a cruise and get some rest from steering), but it’s impossible without knowing when to check in and course-correct, and making some routine. It works the same with people and delegation - while it’s possible to do everything single-handedly, one has to question the actual productivity.

As the Aeolus approached the North Channel, we started to see airplanes, a sign that Boston Logan was near! Behind us, we saw a tugboat bringing a large barge into the harbor. We assumed that they would go around us since we had the right-of-way according to the US navigation rules, but they disagreed—with a loud honk she told us that we were in her way (or maybe she was just alerting us of her presence). We got out of here way, jibing in the process. Thirty-foot sailboats get out of the way of large ~200ft barges. That's the pragmatic navigation rule!

Boston in the distance

Lena's Meditation: As I observe the tugboat’s behavior towards us, my thoughts on trust and expectations return. What the tugboat had just shown us was assertiveness (or maybe she was just making sure we were paying attention). When I suspend my agenda, which is what we did by giving the tug boat the right-of-way, there is a chance that someone else who is more assertive will build a habit of taking advantage of me. Suspecting the agenda comes at the risk of becoming a “doormat” or being manipulated by others to meet their needs and ignore mine. This is a dilemma I often struggle with, as I tend to be on the low assertiveness side (due to cultural or personality reasons, I am not sure). An important leadership lesson I learned from observing other boats and how they compete for the same water is to be on the look out for and ask myself about the dangers of giving someone else the 'right-of-way'. If giving them the 'right-of-way' means that I will be pushed into some rocks then I will assert my needs. So far, it has helped me a lot!

As the Aeolus approached Boston, it was hard to get used to having to pay attention to other boats again after so many hours of blue sailing. Since it was still early (and hot), the crew decided to make a swimming stop near Spectacle Island and finish the rum. The water was warm and we could hear the blasts from the barges that were dredging the channel, making it deeper for modern container ships. While drying off in the cockpit, I noticed the head of a seal popping up above the water. The blasts from the channel dredging barges that started operating this year must've bothered her, poor thing... Or maybe she was just enjoying the sun!

'I'll be back' Sergey signs as he enjoys his swimming

We cast off from Spectacle Island under sail—the last cast-off of our 3-day adventure—and pointed the bow toward the Boston Inner Harbor. We left the “red right return” buoys marking the main channel to our port but did not stray too far from the channel: we trusted that if we stayed close to them, we would not run aground ;-) And we did not.

We arrived at the BSC marina after dark… the adventure was over. Sergey drove us all home to resume our “normal” lives.

Lena's Meditation Conclusion: Trust is a very delicate and volatile thing—-hard to build but very easy to lose. After nearly 10 years in Boston without experiencing anything close to a hurricane in the New England area, I trusted that our planned week-long sailing adventure toward Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket at the end of August was a done deal. And then a hurricane damaged the Zeitgeist. Fortunately the 3 days onboard the Aeolus were beautiful, sunny, warm and with just enough wind to get the crew to Gloucester and back. But the fear lingers in me—can I trust that the weather will be beneficial for a longer term sailing cruise? Or will climate change make these types of weather events more common and harder to plan these types of adventures? Only time will tell.