Troubled Waters

Victoria BC, Summer 2007

Tidal currents broke against wind-driven waves where the Straits of Juan de Fuca meet the waters of north Puget Sound. Our motor sailing trip took four of us through rough waters on our way to and from Victoria, but these waters were different: gurgling and whirlpools surrounding totally flat places. I had never seen water like this and I was riveted.
Our sails carried us along but the primary mover was the tide. We were riding it eastward and making 11.6 knots at one point, as measured by a hand-held GPS. For a 26' MacGregor, that's fast. When we hit some of the wind-driven waves the boat was tossed about a bit, but we held our course. The wind died as we rounded into the strait that took us to Friday Harbor, so we started up the motor again. Before we left the "weird waters" we were treated to some seal sightings.
One was playing with some seagulls. Perhaps they were sharing some fish? We saw a few more seal heads pop through the flat waters, then a flick of a whale's tail – white, it appeared at ten o'clock and three hundred yards. Dolphins swam off our starboard bow for a few seconds, and then disappeared under the water.
One of our passengers missed most of the wildlife, however, choosing to spend most of the trip below deck. Whether out of fear or boredom we may never know, but as soon as we left the dock in Victoria, Anne curled up in the fetal position in the forward berth and only came out for a few minutes in our nine hour voyage. She did come out for dinner when we hit Friday Harbor, but went back below again when we boarded again for the trip to La Conner.
The trip for her was a challenge from the start. Anne has struggled for the past several years with drug and alcohol addictions, bipolar and OCD diagnoses as well. She has attempted to take her own life several times with overdoses of various kinds, ending up in the hospital for three months at one stretch. Her outward appearance belies her inner turmoil. She looks weary. I'd thought a sailing trip through the San Juan Islands would be the antidote to her obsessions and compulsions, drawing her outside of herself with the outdoors. It was not to be. The challenges of the trip were too much for her fragile state. The waiting, using the "head" to pee, the rough seas, the hours on the boat were not to her liking at all. Even the wildlife did not hold much draw.
It was challenging to be with someone who cannot connect with nature. Sailing can also be hard work, and is not always pretty. Our skipper (also my domestic partner) and I snapped at each other in a tense moment . . . and there are some tense moments in rough waters. Wind changes and tide changes can happen in seconds, so the required changes in sheeting and ballast can force some quick decisions and movement around the boat. (Macgregors, by the way, have water in the hull for ballast – instead of a metal keel -- which can be filled and emptied according to need.) Main sheet raising and reefing, jib sheet moves when we tack, and jibe all require crew movement in and around the cockpit. Then there are the anxious seconds of wondering if the boat will turn successfully in the desired direction. Sometimes, we fail...the wind shifted direction, the current changed. We do it again. This time, success!
The adrenaline rush of the tack and jibe movements, raising and lowering sails, and checking for wind, depth, compass direction are also what make sailing so exciting. Wrong moves can cost time, comfort, and even your life if you capsize in rough water. Correct moves produce the satisfaction of movement in the "right" direction. Like sailing, helping someone through turbulent times is risky. If they make it through, they might be grateful at some point later, or maybe not…If they don't make it, they might just blame you for their fall overboard, or you might have to live with the guilt of a miscalculated tack or jibe.
We made it back late that night to La Conner. After a hair-raising trip through the notorious Deception Pass in total darkness, we motored effortlessly into the Swinomish Channel and under the arches of lights on the bridge. When we docked I gave our skipper a triumphant hug of congratulations and gratitude for getting us home safe.
Anne stood next to my daughter Emma and said, "I wish I hadn't come." From another passenger I would have been deeply been hurt by that comment. But I understood that in her state of mind, that was probably true. The skipper, my daughter and I all felt bad for Anne, and wished there was some way to reach her, to tell her that we made it and all was well. But for Anne, the rough waters didn't end when she stepped onto the dock.