Cruise Story—Bronze: The Crossing
by Kira Coonley
The bow of the boat disappeared as it dove into the face of the ocean swell sending salt spray across the foredeck, hitting the isen glass that surrounded the cockpit, and expelling its glory in our wake. Water sloshed down the gunnels on both sides and flooded the deck as she pitched from port to starboard and back again. We were five, the captain, my sister and three other crew including myself, charting our course across the Atlantic on a 62’ sailboat, miles from any land, and at the mercy of the ocean and its’ multitude of faces.
It was day three at sea and our bodies were slowly growing accustomed to the rhythm of the boat restlessly thrust about in all directions by the unforgiving swell. We departed from Gibraltar, (a British territory which forms a 2.6 square mile rocky outcropping on the southern most tip of the Iberian peninsula) and passed through the Straight of Gibraltar, leaving the Mediterranean Sea, and entering the North Atlantic. The sun was veiled by a myriad of relentless storm clouds, which cast shadows on the deep indigo color of the ocean as it stretched in every direction to an infinite horizon. The wind was strong, but controllable, with occasional gusts. Adrenaline rushed through my veins; how good it felt to be back on the ocean, generating forward motion naturally and freely, challenging and being challenged.
We charted our course South hugging the coastline of Northern Africa, far enough off shore not to be threatened by the pirates who look for American yachts to pillage, yet close enough to make out lights of Morocco in the distance. We had already shredded the first piece of canvas we hoisted – our spinnaker, a thin lightweight sail that billows out off the bow of the boat in bright colors. It took a gust of 30 knots, split in two, unraveled, and shamelessly drifted to the deck in pieces. Our respect for the irrepressibility of Mother Nature was captured, while simultaneously our egos punished. It was the first leg of the journey; a comparatively short four-day sail down through the North Atlantic to the Canary Islands (a Spanish archipelago 60 miles off the coast of Morocco) before provisioning for the last time and setting out to cross the vast Atlantic to Antigua (an island in the British West Indies).
Our journey began in late October, an appropriate time to dare an Atlantic crossing, as it was after hurricane season, that distinct time of the year, which wreaks havoc on yachters in both the Atlantic and Caribbean. I joined the sailboat as crew for both legs of the crossing: the first from Gibraltar to the Canary Islands, and the second from the Canary Islands to Antigua. The entire journey, if completed, would cover over 4,000 nautical miles and exhaust at least 20 days at sea. Although this offer to crew presented an undeniable challenge, incredible risk, and unknown outcome, I didn’t need any convincing for the following reasons: sailing is second nature to me; adventure is in my blood; and, well, I cannot deny my ongoing love affair with the ocean.
I grew up with the Atlantic Ocean as my backyard; thus, ever since I was a small child I have been intrigued by it. Everything from its’ smell, sound, color, incessantly changing faces, mysterious spirit, and close relationship to the sun and the phases of the moon has captured me. It offers an irreplaceable presence and perpetual tranquility. Whether it be watching waves break and then recede across the beach leaving a glistening sheet of wet sand, hearing their roaring lullaby as they crash, or surfing in them with the exhilaration of being one with the ocean, I am seduced.
I learned to surf 5 years ago and began to better understand how the ocean is in constant motion and connected to the gravitational pull of the sun and moon. This energy oscillates the surface while the wind agitates it into waves, which peel, barrel and provide a tube to ride in. Concurrently, I considered the ebb and flow of tides, which are a periodic rise and fall of the ocean caused by the gravitational interaction between the earth and the moon.
Being out on the open ocean however, amidst its’ deep indigo blue expanse with its’ unfathomable depth, was entirely different for me. There was no land to ground my feet on or return to after a session of riding waves. Sailing across the Atlantic demanded patience and a level of piety for the constant changing faces of the ocean, day in and day out – there was no escaping it . I fell into a rhythm with the ocean different from that of surfing. A rhythm, I suppose, unknown to many. A rhythm, although more mentally and physically challenging than I had prepared for, was one that I didn’t want to end and continue to lust for.
On the boat, throughout the duration of the crossing, I stood watch in the early hours of every morning from 1am to 3am. This is requisite in any offshore cruising that someone be up on deck at all times. Although the radar is constantly spinning to detect any possible obstruction and autopilot holds our charted course, it is the human instinct, reaction time, and skilled sailing technique that addresses threats on the radar, changes in wind direction, and keeps the sails trimmed accordingly for maximum velocity and stability. Something technology, to date, has yet to rival.
It was during this time, night after night, when I was alone up on deck as everyone else was below lying horizontal (relatively speaking) and trying to remember what sleep was, that some of the oceans mysteries revealed themselves to me and reciprocally I spilled my secrets to it. On clear nights, I took moments to gaze at the multitude of stars that plastered the sky, galaxies stretching from one horizon to another, the face and reflection of the moon, and the phosphorescence alive on the oceans surface. Captured by my surroundings I exposed my heart, recent love, and ecstasy for life. It listened earnestly.
From the Canary Islands to Antigua we maintained a downwind point of sail without exception, following the same trade winds as Christopher Columbus did on his infamous expedition in search of the New World. We set our sails in a wing-on-wing configuration in which the boom and mainsail are off the port side of the boat and the jib is forced off the starboard. This catches the greatest amount of wind coming from behind and aids in keeping the boat stable in the persistent 8’-10’ following swells and occasional rogue waves that crashed off her side.
Throughout the day, whenever we attained relative stability, we cast fishing lines off the stern and trolled. The first bites usually came around sunset, the reel spinning recklessly until we went aft, enjoyed a good fight, and spooled it in. Mahi-mahi, a beautiful fish of metallic green and blue colors, became our frequent catch, and once filleted into carpaccio one of our best meals. Pods of dolphins sporadically accompanied us, showing their natural speed as they flirted with the bow of our boat. Small flying fish darted in and out of the surface, flashing in the sun as they caught flight for moments before being swallowed by the ocean swell.
Towels, T-shirts, boxers and panties hung from the clothesline drying in the invigorating salt air. Food was thoughtfully and communally prepared, conversation was everything from general to deeply philosophical, and everyone was respectful of our confined 62’ footprint and accepting of how the other was embracing the experience. On most days the smell of Cuban cigars filled the afternoon air, the smoke leaving a trail behind us, signifying the Captain’s daily indulgence. My sister and I grew closer through each other’s presence, openly sharing things that we have never shared before. The crossing was well underway….
This familiar rhythm of life out on the open ocean, with continual but not threatening winds and moderate seas (a condition that we had fantasized would last forever) suddenly changed. As we approached the 45th parallel, the wind began gusting, building the seas around us into giant bluish-black liquid mountains. Without any forewarning we were at the edge of a major storm front. Directed by the captain we quickly reefed both sails, which allowed less wind to fill them and prevented the boat from becoming overpowered or breaching. The rain began to fall hard, swirling in horizontal patterns by the fierce winds, penetrating the boat. It was as if we were no more than a cork bobbing in a vast ocean of pelagic life forms ready to engulf us. Time passed without differentiation, except for the extreme darkness of night and subtle lightness of day. The relative silence that had surrounded us was no longer as the winds tormented the sea into a rage.
This storm front persisted, unseen by any VHF marine forecasting we had been in communication with and consequently without a predictable time-line. The weather was gruesome; fierce black skies, gale force winds, sporadic squalls, and a daunting swell of 15’ or more. It became a duel between the strength, valor, and endurance of each person alongside the capability of the boat versus Mother Natures’ elements - the human handicap being its mental and emotional state of fear, which has the potential to be destructive in and of itself. Our level of vulnerability had reached its climax.
Day after day passed of this ominous weather; the worst any of us had ever experienced. No one slept and nourishment became minimal. Our human presence, maintaining the boats course and monitoring its fiberglass hull, single aluminum mast, and intricate rigging, was inundated by the storm. Although tenacious to do as she was designed, sail, stay afloat, and carry passengers from one port to another, the boat took a cruel beating. She rode the waves, letting the water crash upon her decks and the winds gust fiercely across her rigging, springing free whatever could not endure the wrath. We were at our most inaccessible coordinates, at least 1,500 nautical miles from any land, where no helicopters or coast guard could reach us if needed. Our only option was to find inner stamina, trust in the capability of the boats construction, and put our faith in the ocean to carry us safely forward.
As quickly as it appeared it disappeared, changing like the flick of a light switch. There was no gradual decrease in wind speed and wave size, it just happened, we had entered what is commonly known in nautical terms as the doldrums, when raging squalls become paralyzing calms. Not a breath of wind disturbed the placid indigo blue of the Atlantic Ocean. The sails became lifeless amidst the tired rigging and for the first time the boat was completely still. We were without any motion of any kind, forward or side to side, just afloat. Most sailors try to avoid the doldrums if they can, especially if they are without an engine, we, on the other hand, were relieved to be in them. In celebratory fashion we let the sheets that controlled both the mainsail and the jib free, stripped off our soiled cloth that had been on our backs for days, grabbed a mask out of the scuba dive bag, shouted out to the world around us in elation, and jumped naked overboard without further thought.
My feet touched the cool water first, initiating a brief moment of shock, then, my entire body was enveloped acclimatizing almost immediately. It was exhilarating, surreal. We were out somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, south of the 45th parallel, on our own, savoring the vastness of the deep, midnight blue, mysterious abyss. I couldn’t get enough. Lying on my back effortlessly floating, diving deep beneath the surface seduced by the unknown. I looked through my mask for any signs of life, and was surprised to see schools of fish 1,000 or more miles from any shore. I remember wishing that I could hold my breath forever and explore the underwater world. Become a part of it.
I stayed immersed until my body had soaked in its essences and my soul had replenished its nearly depleted faith. I climbed back on the boat to notice the canvas of the sails fluttering ever so gently, the wind increasing but not intensely enough to fill them, whilst the sun glistened beautifully on the surface that I had just penetrated. I felt whole again; the ocean had swallowed me, cleansing my body and rejuvenating my spirit.
We started the engine for the first time since leaving the Canary Islands. Powering forward we sliced through the oceans surface, the only human disturbance for hundreds of miles. The salt air was intoxicating, filling my lungs with a newfound energy and capturing my awareness in the present moment. The ocean persisted its shade of dark indigo with an infusion of mint green revealing both its depth and stillness. The surface bore to us its’ forgiveness - sundrenched, reflective, and vibrant.
As we left the doldrums behind us the wind remained consistently gentle and the sky unfiltered. We entered into the Caribbean Sea, the color of the water changed, becoming an exotic turquoise. The contrast between that and the opaque indigo blue of the Atlantic we had been sailing in was extreme. As the depths decreased the intensity of the color increased each nautical mile south on our course toward Antigua. Birds swooped and glided around us, the first sign that land was not far off.
The lights on the horizon came a day or two later. When I saw them at first I was excited, zealous, and overwhelmed, yet didn’t want the journey to end. Instead, I felt as though my experience out on the ocean of its various states could be endless and that this was just the beginning. I had been exposed to an unknown raw beauty of natures’ existence and the contrast between ocean, sky, and humankinds’ presence in it. As much as I wanted to reach land, embrace my family, friends, and love, and celebrate an epic accomplishment I didn’t want to give up my exposure to the unknown, my intimate relationship with the ocean and loose the secrets of mine it had swallowed into its’ vastness.
As Jimmy Buffet’s melodies filled the air, a magnum of champagne was uncorked and flutes were lifted, commencing the celebration of our crossing. We navigated into Great Harbour, Antigua and anchored. Exhausted, slightly damaged, caked in salt, yet victorious the boat came to rest, and so did we. As I watched and listened to the waves gently crash on the zinc-white shoreline dotted with lush green palm trees I slowly began to regain my connection with the land and the perpetual tranquility of the oceans relationship with it. Soon, I would be in the loving arms of the one I gave my heart to, the man I had told nobody about, except the ocean.
Kira Coonley has a background in Anthropology and International Relations, which has inspired much of her travel around the globe. With a spirit that is adventuresome and unquenchable she chooses to travel to exotic “off the beaten path†locations, often out of her comfort zone, constantly discovering the unfamiliar. A passionate surfer, sailor, and kayaker she has always had an intimate relationship with the ocean.
