April 26-May 1

I am from Long Island.  The one in New York.  We visited that one last summer at the beginning of our trip.  It was nostalgic and sweet.  Later last summer, we visited another Long Island.  The one in Maine.  That was traumatic but tasty.  You may recall that we bought 3 steamed lobsters for $12 and enjoyed an amazing lobster roll dinner.  You may also recall that I was cast in a new movie called “Attack of the Killer Swarming Flies”.  If you do not recall, and you want to snort that coffee out through your nose, now would be a good time to read this post:  http://www.conwaysailors.com/attack-of-the-killer-flies/  (I just read it again and it is still just as funny as last August!)

They say the third time’s a charm.  It seems that there is yet another Long Island- in the southern Bahamas.  North enough to be free of drug smugglers and refugees from Haiti.  South enough to be free from tourists (you decide which is worse.  Just Kidding!  -ish.).

Chris and the kids are always up for a long sail. More time to fish!

We had to sail 163 miles to get to Long Island from our first Bahamian port at Great Inagua.  After the 3 ½ day passage from the BVIs just a couple of days earlier, I was not yet ready for another overnight passage.  But there were a lot of islands to see, and Hurricane Season was looming…

Reese reels one in.

Bryson and Porter check the fish book for facts about our latest catch.

 “It’s a fine line between the darkness and the dawn.  They say in the darkest night, there’s a light beyond.” – ART GARFUNKEL – ALL I KNOW

My log book, which is becoming less factual and much funnier, peppered with bouts of philosophy, says this of my overnight watch (keep in mind that nothing stated at 3:35am should ever be recorded or too seriously contemplated).

4/27/13

0335: Happy Birthday Rosemary! (that’s Chris’ mom:)  We are tight-reaching under a full moon next to Acklins Island, heading north to Long Island. Anything Goes is right behind us. We caught a skip jack and a barracuda during the day. Going fast: 7.3-8 kts. But this point of sail takes all my concentration. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. Too many variables changing all the time and we are heeling so much. I am thinking about how little I have learned about sailing this year. I am sadly understanding how little I used to know and I thought I knew a lot. I’ve been a galley slave, schoolmarm, or happy passenger this year, riding the lazarette most of the time. I wish I had more energy to devote to learning and practicing, but underway is the only time I get to rest a bit. I felt seasick before. Headachy. I lay down for few hours and the boat down below looks like it went through a blender. That’s what happens when I stop cleaning………………geez Erica.  It’s tough being the “General Manager of the Universe,” isn’t it?

0629 The sun is rising as I monitor a ship heading right at us at the Northwest corner of Acklins Island.

The sun explodes behind the clouds as a ship passes us to starboard.

See what I mean?  In the span of a few sentences, I…

1. berated myself for not being a “good enough” sailor.  Really?  We’re closing in on 6000 miles under our keel in under ten months.  It’s probably safe to say that I’ve got the basics down.  It’s all Chris’ fault, actually.  He is a natural born sailor.  He has spot-on instincts on top of years of experience at the helm of a big boat.  Although I am biased, I believe he would give most professional sailors a run for their money.  To be a First Mate next to him is a constant exercise in humility, but also an inspiration to continue to learn.

2. complained about being seasick (get over it), and…

3. pitied myself for being the only one who cleans the boat.  Luckily, upon writing those martyr-like (and untrue) words, I remembered the admonition of motivational speaker Cheryl Richardson.  I was at a retreat she was running a few years ago and she asked me why I wasn’t spending more time taking care of myself.  I launched into my usual tirade about how busy I was raising three children and taking care of a house, volunteering for this, that, and the other thing, and blah, blah, blah.  She interrupted me and asked, rather bluntly, “So what’s it like being the General Manager of the Universe?”

Stunned, I came to a sudden and instant understanding.  The world does not, in fact, balance upon my ability to keep everything neat and organized with well-mannered, well-fed, happy, smart, and creative children.  And yet, when I find myself overwhelmed and overextended, I feel as if the whole world rests on my shoulders.  I decided then and there to turn in my resignation for this ridiculous job title.  It changed my perspective when I got back home.  I took myself much less seriously.  I took my everyday tasks less seriously.  And I found that I could find time to do the things I love without the whole world collapsing.  It is still a bit surprising, given our society, that the less important and necessary I feel, the happy and more at peace I am.  Hmmm.

When I saw that I was writing, albeit at 3:35am, that I had slid back into that perceived role, I was so grateful for Cheryl Richardson’s sharp and to-the-point question.  How does it feel to the be the General Manager of the Universe?  I wrote that question to myself to shake myself out of my funk and ended up contemplating the sentences in my logbook for three hours.  All while running the boat and monitoring said ship towards the NW corner of Acklins Island.

“Morning has broken, like first morning…”

The hours of solitude during night watches bring so many varied experiences for me.  Chris is a better night sailor.  He just sails the boat.  Fast.  I am too affected by the immensity of the universe and the billions of stars and the power of the dark ocean to keep my mind from wandering.  Sometimes, I am hit with a philosophical question to ponder.  Sometimes I am awed at the beauty of the ocean, sky, and world around me.  Sometimes, when it is calm, I throw myself into the book I am currently reading (shh. Don’t tell Chris that I’m not constantly staring at the tell-tales and trimming the jib!).  And sometimes I am a big old complainy pants who writes her “grievances du jour” in her log book and stuffs Twizzlers in her mouth to pass the time.  But sometimes, I am just a sailor.  (And a good one, too.)

Long Island to port!