Take the Leap – Life as an Ocean Gypsy - Part 5 - Raratonga to home

by Kristen Anderson on 22 Nov 2017 As Raratonga grew steadily smaller, melting into the endless ocean that was home once more, I felt immensely content; a quiet happiness from deep within. The afternoon sun and tiniest of gentle swells had lulled almost everyone to sleep, and I found myself alone to enjoy this moment. All was blue, even the island whose lush foliage was now misted by distance to a blue-green haze.

The sea was a deep wonderful lapis, my favourite hue, happy and serene, sparkling with diamonds of light beneath aquamarine skies. Gulping in huge deep lungfuls of it all, I thought “If only moments like these, as you leap out into the vast unknown, could be bottled”. If you could capture it and offer it for sale in this increasingly stymied and sterile world, you would be rich indeed. But of course, no money in the world can purchase it, and no synthetic or virtual reality version can capture it. Which is why it is so precious… Non-boat girl time, stillness and sunshine had recharged my batteries and I was fully ready to embrace whatever this final month of freedom and adventure offered, this time with home and love at the end of it.

I was trying to stop myself short though, each time I thought, 'only one hop to go’. At 2,671 nm, we still had a great expanse of ocean to cross. And who knew how many fronts awaited us this time??!! Joining Tony, Max and I were Max’s uncle, Professor Brian, Tony’s good friend Keith and his girlfriend Karen, who had never sailed out of Lake Macquarie! Bearing 232 to Newcastle, our journey commenced with very little wind and unbelievably benign, warm and calm conditions.

This lulled our three new crew mates into a false sense of security but gave us some gloriously pleasant, albeit slow, cruising. Ten days later we had a memorable moment when, at 9.49pm on June 9, at a latitude of 26 26S I watched the chart plotter change our position reading from 179 59W to 179 59E as we crossed the international dateline. I expected a Dr Who Tardis moment, which was sadly not forthcoming (except in my fertile imagination), and it was perhaps an inglorious moment as we were hove-to in a storm at the time (yes, again!) and drifted rather than sailed across it, but it was nevertheless special.

As well as calms and those inevitable storms, we managed to enjoy some magical sailing on this 24-day voyage, beautiful easy conditions where Commitment positively danced across happy sapphire seas. Those days were utter perfection and, like a drug, left us wanting more. With my soul as free as the ocean is deep, I couldn’t help but marvel at the direction life has taken, and I made a vow to myself then and there to avoid being pulled back into the rat race and the traps of its so-called charms that inure us to this freedom.

I don’t know exactly how I will manage it but my vote is cast – I want to be truly ‘alive’! Aside from this fresh perspective, I learned on this leg that I have become firmly addicted to sailing beneath wondrous night skies, that “a star to steer by” is indeed all one can want for, and that the show is not over till the fat lady sings, the waters of our very own Tasman being the most testing of all.

The clearer weather for much of this crossing made for spectacularly beautiful night sailing. For those of you who, like me, are captivated by the unequalled joy of dancing across the sea on a star-studded night, you will understand my raptures and be closing your eyes right now and reliving your own moments. For those of you, however, who have not yet had this pleasure, picture if you can a calm still evening, the boat beneath you gliding serenely through unseen seas stretching to infinity, the sky above and all around you a thick velvet blackness, brimming with millions of sparkling jewels.

The horizon is indiscernible as these dazzling gems are reflected in the depths below. Which is ocean and which is sky? Almost too beautiful to absorb, can it possibly be real? You glance across at your entranced watch-mate, and not a word is spoken to break the spell, it’s real alright and we are the luckiest of people in this universe. These star-gazing night watches, filled with easy companionship and wonderful conversation were a joy, and often led to deep philosophising.

Chatting one such evening about the gift of living in the moment, Brian muses that nights like these bring to mind John Maisfield's poem,

“I must go down to the sea again
To the lovely sea and the sky
All I ask is a tall ship
And a star to steer her by”

On clear nights, when the heavens shimmered with their brilliance we were spoiled for choice for stars with which to steer by, but on wilder nights, one single star peeping bravely amid dark stormy clouds was sufficient to maintain course with ease. Such a metaphor for living life, and I am so grateful to have had this luxury of time to work out which particular star, in this universe full of them, I want to head towards for the next phase of my life. As this particular journey neared its end, these evenings, these moments, were to be fully absorbed and cherished. On June 11 my journal entry was jubilant,

“Clouds clearing and stars deciding that the coast is clear and beginning to emerge one by one. One thing is for sure, I am alive!!!!!!!!!!! Stayed in the cockpit long after shift changeover… such a wonderful night under this canopy and I am loving the euphoric feeling of charging through it, all kitted up and living a bit on the edge – it's a drug!”

A few days later I was still euphoric,

“Velvet black sky strewn with a myriad outrageous stars, and then a huge blood red moon slowly climbed up out of the dark sea behind. Shooting stars streaking across the universe completed the show… A day to treasure. The rhythm and joy of Calypso is in me :-)”

I will never tire of this night vista and, whilst part of me yearned by now to be in the arms of my people back home, this vast, magnificent cosmos held me in its thrall, and it was with mixed emotions that I contemplated our increasingly close proximity to home. Until…

By June 17 we had just 760nm to go to Newcastle. Under normal circumstances, we could expect to be home in around 4 ½ days. The wild card by this stage, however, was an impending low pressure system that could well derail us. Tony had been watching the weather closely and the mood on Commitment had become restless and edgy. Options had been investigated, and rejected.

We wouldn’t reach Lord Howe, two days away, in time to tuck safely into Ned’s Beach to ride it out, and heading due west to skirt north of it appeared fruitless. ‘Nothing we haven't seen before’, he assured us, and yet he seemed especially tense. The next day, with just under 7,000nm of ocean behind us, any optimistic thoughts of an uneventful run home were laid to rest, and we felt the full fury of an Australian East Coast Low. My journal from June 18 reads,

“There began a rough day. Barometer diving, wind building, seas climbing...Wild, wild stuff out here!!!... Before we eventually hove-to we were surfing down 8 metre waves in 45 knots”

The next day, propped on the floor near the nav station, anxiously watching and waiting as semi-regular breaking waves crashed thunderously over us, turning the immediately visible world into a sea of cascading foam and threatening to topple our precarious hove-to equilibrium, I scrawled, “…absolutely howling outside, hurling us violently. I am now absolutely ready to get home!!!!!!!!!!!”

But the ocean had other ideas…and we buckled up for a truly rough ride. Over the course of the next few days we battled to make laborious forward progress when conditions allowed, and capitulated and hove-to when either the wind reached crescendos or we reached exhaustion. On June 20 I recorded,

“We are hove-to once again, rocking and lurching and listening to the wind screeching outside our little cocoon. To say that everyone is over this is the understatement of the century….But nothing to be done as we can’t change the weather! Tony just ran a new forecast and this wind – both direction and intensity – will continue (and possibly increase) until ~10am on 22nd!!!!!!!!! Seriously….DTG [distance to go] is 320.5nm. Seas are ridiculously f#*%d up… Such a small distance but may as well be the moon…”.

By this stage this distance referred to Coffs Harbour, all on board fully in agreement that Newcastle was out of the question and landfall anywhere would be lovely, thank you very much. I will spare you the exhausting details, but finally after three to four exceedingly trying days of alternating between drifting NW and battling west under heavily reefed sails to gain sea room from Elizabeth and Middleton Reefs, the system eventually spent its fury and conditions began to abate. We wasted no time and hoisted sail immediately for an exhilarating final few days of fast and heady sailing, “blow us home Huey!”. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly trying times can be shucked off, and as we closed on the New South Wales coast, my veins ran with pure elation and my face could almost have split, so wide was my grin.

On June 23, the last day of this four-month adventure, the sea was calming, seabirds were circling, and the sunset concert looked set to be spectacular. Feeling every bit as free as those birds, I was ecstatic to be pointed at home, overjoyed at the experience I’d had out here, and almost bursting with the anticipation of being with my loved ones. Did I enjoy every minute? Of course not, only a masochist would enjoy being drenched for days, repeatedly smashed by wild conditions, constantly deprived of sleep, and physically and mentally tested. But would I do it again? Definitively yes! The moments of discomfort and fear were far outweighed by those of sheer joy, perfect freedom and the intense high that is living life outside your comfort zone.

A farewell card I had received on my departure, and still carried with me, had urged me to “enjoy the real you out there”. Taking stock as we slid into Coffs Harbour in the dawn light, I reflected that indeed I have enjoyed the real me, which will now more than ever need nurturing to ensure it is robust enough to survive and thrive before pitting it against the wheel of work. Life is short. That gap year (already threatening to become plural) is not done yet. … Take the leap ??