"Sailing Through Life with Attitude"
By: Barb Radu Sprenger

My book is an intimate look at our lives, fears, loss and love as we explore the world on our sailboat.
(I've posted the first few chapters; see if you like it.)

While living life at full speed: raising two teenage daughters, working passionately in my career, and enjoying an active social life, my husband and best friend dies unexpectedly.  It spins my heartbroken daughters and me in every emotional direction possible and it spirals us into a living hell. Very soon after his death, I reconnect with a friend from the past and we fall deeply in love.  I learn that he has a passion, a dream to sail around the world -- one day.  His words don’t resonate with me, as I’m still climbing out of my daughters and my broken world and living day to day with our grief.  I continue to direct my energy into my career, and gently endeavour to recreating "family" by blending our lives with Con’s adult daughters.

Without warning, life smacks again when Con is diagnosed with Prostate Cancer.   The moment his operation was deemed “a success,” we scoured the world for the just-right boat, finding Big Sky in Finland.  We begin living life in the fast lane, taking hold of it, not giving it another chance to take hold of us.  The Baltic Sea will thaw by April, so that spring we give away most of our possessions, lease out our house; and I end my career. When we toss off the lines that spring in Finland, I was caught off guard by how deeply I’d struggle with homesickness; missing my daughters, parents, friends, family, and my job.   Equally challenging is coming to terms with my fears.  I am quietly terrified of a life at sea – sailing, wild seas, stormy weather, and living on a boat. I learn about my personal endurance and the depth of my love.  I use my desire to see the world and my passion for living as the antidote to overcome my fears. 

We're still blissfully "sailing through life," tackling some of the wildest seas.  We’ve been hit by lightening; tossed like a rubber duck in Force 10 gusts (95 KPH); grounded in tidal waters; and thrown unmercifully out of our beds by huge waves while crossing the Bay of Biscay, waking in the morning to dozens of dolphins swimming at our bow and massive whales moving past us as if in slow motion.   We’ve explored sites as old as dust, immerged into remote communities, spoken in every language with smiles and gestures. 

But, our world begins crashing down on us again.  Con's business is tumbling faster than he can catch it; our stocks have dropped to less than half, and we return to Canada to try to stop the financial bleeding.  

During this incredibly stressful time, Con begins to limp.  He can no longer drive a car; he’s walking with a cane and falling down. Maybe it's tight muscles from the stress I think.  He is diagnosed with a potentially fatal tumour on his spine and we’re told “it could kill him at any moment, or leave him a quadriplegic.”  We won't fall over from life's challenges, it infuses our spirits. 

Prologue

We had to get to Rome in two days!  A frantic change of circumstances dropped in on us, the morning Con opened his email.  His business in North America was tanking and he needed to get home with an urgency that took on monumental importance.    

Sailing around Ibiza, Menorca, Mallorca, Southern France, and Corsica that spring, soaking up the hot Mediterranean sun, letting it penetrate each pore; we envisioned our summer to be more of the same.  Waking when we opened our eyes; swimming to rehydrate from the tremendous heat; and drinking in the atmosphere to hydrate our souls.  Life was light and carefree, I thought.  We’d splash through the sea ripples in our blow-up Zodiac, enjoying the spray as we’d make our way from anchorage to shore.  We’d climb out, soaking our sandaled feet, walking hand and hand to the market for fresh fruits and veggies.  Delightfully, we were “sailing through life.”

We dropped anchor in Porto Ercole, carried on to the island of Gigglio, Porto Stefano, and to Traiano where Con received his business report.  He put himself into full crisis mode, booking us flights back to Calgary, leaving Rome the morning after the next.   We booked Big Sky on the hard in the Technomar Yard, up the Fumicino River for first thing in the next morning! Keeping her in the water at this point was not a good idea, because based on all indications in Canada, we were heading into a business hurricane and we had no idea how long we’d need to manage the storm.

Wouldn’t you know it; we woke the next morning to the wind howling in the rigging. We scrambled out of bed to check the wind speed indicator and to our horror it was blowing over 40 knots – in the marina!  Looking out the pilot house windows, we saw dark low menacing clouds racing across the sky and waves breaking over the marina breakwater. 

“Oh God, this may be our nightmare sail Con.  Do we have another choice?”  I asked.

“Well, we can’t keep Big Sky here, and we have been promised a lift in the morning at Technomar.”  Con responded.  “It is still our best bet Barbie, and she can handle this sort of weather.”

We discussed our options and decided to go.  Everything was secure below, I climbed outside and surveyed the deck; all tied down and ready.  I moved forward to the bow lines.  They were unusually difficult to untie this morning.  That’s unusual, I thought. Was this foreshadowing of something to come?  Stop it.

We were now making our way toward the inner marina breakwater.  The rain was pelting down hard, thunder clapping and zapping in the skies off to the west. Despite my foreboding, I couldn’t help admit the sail was fantastic, getting us to the Fumicino River mouth in just 4 ½ hours.  The sea was anything but inviting.  We chopped and slashed through massive waves while they crashed against Big Sky’s starboard side, then up and over our pilot house, racing off our port side.  We tossed so roughly in the confused sea that I could feel my abs getting a work out from trying to stay upright while seated in the pilot house.  The contents of my stomach was nearing my throat and I was ready to lose my breakfast, partially from sea sickness mostly from anxiety.  I took deep inhales, looked out the companion way at Con, who appeared to be in complete control.  He was holding our hand-held GPS (Global Positioning System) in one hand and had his other tight around the deer-skin covering on the dodger hand hold as Big Sky careened ahead on auto pilot.   

I watched our movement on the second GPS.  We’d been running parallel to the shore, and in anticipation of our turn to run in with the waves, I was getting more and more agitated.  We were just 30 minutes from the river’s mouth and I knew this would be extremely unpleasant.  The sea swells were getting larger and larger; I caught myself in a wide-eyed expression, looking out the window at the sea.  Making a turn in these swells was leaving me terrified. 

I spotted my life jacket where I left it under the dodger; Con had his on.  It’s not a good idea to put them on while inside, just like when exiting a plane, inflate them when you’re out of the plane.  Once our jackets hit the water, they automatically inflate.   Is that a good idea to have it out under the dodger or should I be out there with it strapped on?

Con began making the turn.  Big Sky lurched to port at a staggering angle of heel, with the swells sending a river of green water washing the pilot house windows and over to port. Looking straight ahead to the river’s mouth, I’d lost sight of the breakwater, but could see the sprays of white water throwing high in the air, and knew that was where the surf met the rocky breakwater. It was 20 minutes directly ahead.

I grabbed for the Imray Pilot’s Guide to double check the depth and look for any alternative plans.   I clearly remembered coming through the river mouth a month ago when Nick and Dan, when our six-month-pregnant daughter and son-in-law were visiting.  It was a really nice day, and my concerns then were that the river’s depth at the mouth was only three meters in places and Big Sky’s keel is 2.1!  I recalled how nervous I was with Dan at the helm, because he was relatively new to all of this, only having driven Big Sky a handful of times during their two-week stay with us.  The river’s mouth was a churning caldron and that was on the good day.  Dan had to pick his way through the turbulent shallows and the debris moving swiftly out of the river to sea.  It was a struggle at the helm for Dan, as the three-knot current tried to take control of Big Sky.   

On this rainy day, we had gusts at times more than 45-knots.  The wind was blowing the rain hard against Con’s back and now the swells were crashing and pushing against our stern.  Big Sky was lifting at the stern and dumping deep into the swells. I could see the breakwater more clearly, as the waves crashed violently on each side of the entrance.  We were now 10 minutes to the mouth entrance.  It was difficult to take my eyes off the view I was witnessing out the windows to look at where my finger was holding the reference point on the details in the Imray book.  Reading the depth numbers again, I was desperately trying to do some simple math.

If the river depth is 3 meters, Big Sky’s draft is 2.1, that leaves .9 meters but if the waves are 4 meters high, in the trough, that would put us roughly 3 meters into the muddy river bottom!  I was paralyzed with fear.  This is more than dangerous, it’s suicide!

We were on the final approach; Con lined us up for the mouth.   The waves were enormous.  I could see them rolling into the breakwater, crashing, and then propel back out to sea, only to collide again with the next onslaught of waves.

I let go of the teak edge, pushed myself out of the cushion bench and clambered up the stairs to double check his decision to continue through the opening.   Opening my mouth to call to him, my voice got caught in my throat – fear I guess. Before I said a word, I could see that Con was attempting to turn us around.

“How you doing?” Con smiled.  “I wanted to take a close up look.  Pretty bad eh.”

I gave Con a confident smile, not wanting him to see how terrified I was. I reminded myself that Big Sky could take the toughest sea, but I wondered could she withstand these absurd waves; could the size and weight of the swells knock her over?  Without that knowledge, I had no confidence that she could make the turn.  I held tight, looking at my life jackets and back at Con.  I was exceptionally calm, but that’s what I do when I’m exceptionally frightened. Big Sky listed ridiculously once again, but she made the turn.  We were now taking the waves on our bow, lifting higher and higher in the air and smashing down hard on each swell.  Con led us back out to sea.   

Should we just remain at sea until morning and see how the sea settles I wondered.  Checking the Imray book again, the Ostia Marina was just a bit further down with plenty of depth.    

I called up to Con, trying to appear unfettered, “let’s try for Ostia, or should we remain out here for awhile to see if it settles?”

“Let’s do Ostia Barb.  Are you ready?”  

I joined Con in the cockpit, secured my life jacket, and surveyed our safety gear.  The life buoy was on our port side; we lost the starboard one crossing from Lithuania to Poland last year, (a different nightmare passage).  I looked over at the yellow plastic bag, our replacement life sling, and the emergency ladder tucked neatly inside another yellow pouch, hanging over the starboard stern rail. The Dan Buoy was mounted on the push pit (the stern).  It’s used to mark a man overboard.  How is this going to spin out?  God willing, if we run into peril, we’ll both be thrown clear and the boat won’t land on top of us.

We were just a few swells from meeting the marina outer breakwater entrance, the waves pushing us a record speed toward the opening.  Standing beside Con, I spoke calmly giving encouragement, “we’re perfectly lined up, keep going, keep it straight, you’re right on, take ‘er in.”

Con was firmly planted behind the helm with both arms tightly gripping the giant wheel and a slight grimace on his face.  The waves lifted us higher and higher.  I think it took one, but maybe two waves and we were inside the outer breakwater.  It was a similar feeling I recalled catching a wave in Hawaii at 18 on a surf board, only this one was on a five-meter wave!  At the apex of our entrance, Big Sky’s engine made a shrilling revving noise!  Our 27-tons had been lifted so high that the water level had gone under the propeller!  When the water caught up again, we rocked side to side as Con kept us in the centre of the corridor still aiming for the inside entrance.  We had surfed right through at speeds we may never know.  Con quickly turned her hard to port so wouldn’t hit the beach and pulled the throttle back into reverse to slow down.

Two macho-looking marinara’s arrived in their Zodiac almost immediately one called up to us in Italian.  I shrugged.  He spoke again, “do you have reservation?”

It seemed like a ludicrous question given what we’ve just been through.  “No,” I spoke back to them in a normal voice, wildly aware of how absurd it all was. 
 
The brawny one of the two was standing and called back to me pointing toward the entrance we’d just come through: “There is no room here, you can go up the Fumicino River; there will be room there.”

I hung over the railing wishing I didn’t have to expel any more energy to help them understand and called down calmly, “sorry, but we’re not leaving, we can’t.  It’s too dangerous.”  It wasn’t enough.  Brawny stood with his hands on his hips. 

“Our keel is 2.1 meters,” I explained in exhausted animation.  Using my fingers for the keel size and pointing to the sky… “In this storm, we won’t make the river mouth.” Banging my fists together to indicate Big Sky and the river bottom, my forceful actions were not taking affect.

“I don’t understand,” Brawny shook his head with little emotion, requiring one action from us and that was to leave. “There is no room, here,” he pointed to the opening again.   “Go to Fumicino River, not here.”  The Zodiac pilot had repositioned their dinghy to ensure we didn’t go further into the marina.

Clearly they couldn’t understand me and didn’t know the severity of the weather.  I tried in Spanish.   Brawny, who was balancing quite nicely, arms still crossed and legs slightly apart continued shaking his head. “No reservation.  No room.  Go to Fumicino River.”

I imitated his stand, arms crossed and legs slightly apart shaking my head: “We cannot. We will not. It’s not safe.  We’ll tie anywhere, but we’re not leaving!”

Impatient and ticked off, Brawny pulled out his radio probably calling the Harbour Master again.  Con spoke quietly to me, “are you winning?”

“Not yet.”

Speaking as only heated Italians can, in loud animated tones, Brawny once again gave us the aggressive message “no room – go.” He held up the radio for me to hear the Harbour Master’s Italian too and all I heard was to “go to Fumicino.”    

“Sorry,” I just shook my head and shrugged.   

Brawny called again.  Con waited at the helm for me to finish negotiating. A few silent moments lapsed, then as if there had been no conflict, and in an efficient voice the marinara said “okay, over here,” and helped us tie onto the concrete pier. 

Con had gone off to the office to pay and I remained in the cockpit attempting to get my nerves back.  My body was exhausted from the fear and expended adrenalin.  I sat back watching a 16-year old boy enter the water from a small sandy public beach just off to my stern.  He was alone.  Nobody else was at the beach, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant day.  The temperature was okay, still threatening rain.  The water inside the two breakwaters was relatively calm.  As I watched, he swam with purpose toward the first corridor, perhaps he’d been watching the water breaking high above the outer breakwater and confused with a false sense of safety was going to tempt the bigger waves outside.  Maybe he was an adrenalin junkie.  Maybe he was suicidal.  Maybe he’d turn around.     

I became genuinely disconcerted, knowing that if another boat were to come through that breakwater with the speed with which we’d just entered, that boy would be split into a dozen pieces.  My eyes bore into the back of his head, watching for his next move.  Incredibly, he continued swimming front crawl on a direct mission to go through the corridor!  My eyes went back to the beach – there was nothing there but his backpack.  Why was he doing that?  In a flash, a surge had pushed him back a meter and sucked him right out of the corridor and out of my sight!   The corridor distance between the inner breakwater and the outer breakwater was maybe 60 or 70 meters, but again I thought about the speed that we rode in.  Those waves were ebbing and flowing and one wave could very likely pull him right out to the sea. 

I jumped up, waited, I watched one wave come through, no head returned… two waves… nothing.  I was stunned.  My heart was beating wildly.  “Hey!” I shout out to the wind and the sound came right back into my mouth.  I can make quick decisions in a crisis, but I was in a conundrum. If I run inside to get the phone I might miss the boy coming back in on a wave.  If I get our cell phone and dial 112 (European’s number for North American’s 911) how do I tell them the situation.  They may not speak English.  I need to run down and turn on the VHF and call a Pan Pan.  Oh God, what if I leave my post and miss his return and I send the guys in the Zodiac out there and they get into a life and death situation.  I decided to sprint inside for the radio and before taking my first step, the two marine guys zoomed past me and out the inner breakwater. 

I held my breath for what seemed like a few minutes, then I heard the roar of the Zodiac and three bodies were inside.  They motored right up to about a half meter from the shore and the teenager attempted to step over the side of the dinghy but just fell in the water. He couldn’t even stand and could barely dog paddle to the shore. He crawled very slowly up the sandy shore and flopped onto his back on the sand near his back pack.  The marinara’s had already motored off.  I kept my eyes peeled on the boy.  After a few minutes, he pulled himself up to a seating position and stared out the corridor to the sea. 

I realized that my eyes were hurting and began watering from lack of blinking.  Was he gathering strength to return through the corridor?   He stood slowly, picked up his bag and dragged himself down the sidewalk to his bike and out of my eyesight. 

Con stepped onto Big Sky a moment later and I told him the incredible scene I’d just witnessed. If the day wasn’t crazy enough…

So, inhaling, “what’s the deal?  Can we keep Big Sky here?  Have her lifted here?”  I was rippled with the fear of going back out on the water again and darn it, I think Con sensed that.

He said evenly, coming to caress my shoulder, “we have to leave in the morning.  That’s okay, I’ll call Technomar and tell them we’ll need the lift first thing in the morning and we’ll have enough time to leave for the airport at 10 a.m.

He pulled out his computer and hooked into the internet.  “The wind will change overnight and come from the east blowing the river out to the sea, exactly the opposite direction from today. The three-meter depth should be good for us and the storm is to subside sometime tonight.  We’ll be fine Barbie.  We’ll check it again in the morning before leaving. I hope I didn’t scare you this afternoon by going so close to the river to take a look.”

“I thought you were going to attempt going through and yes, it scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Con is always gentle and patient even despite all his worries: the timing to get into the river tomorrow, the lift, connecting with our flight, and his seeming impossible business problems.

By morning, I couldn’t get my confidence to get behind the wheel to drive us out of the marina, despite the fact that for a year I got behind the wheel on all marina departures.  Con drives us in; I drive us out.  With Con behind the wheel, we drove through the river’s mouth without incident. 

Entering the river was like entering the Bayou.  For the life of us, we could not find the Technomar pier and had to call them a couple of times for directions or landmarks.  Con asked, “is there a boat name you could give us nearby so we know if we’re close?”

“Sorry, no landmarks.  You’ll see an old house and don’t go further than the bridge.”

Well, there were dozens of old houses and we could see the bridge, so that left us about a kilometre of river to continue to look for them.

“Technomar?” we called to a guy in a sailboat.

“Si, es here.” 

We found a pier barely the size of Big Sky and attempted to moor.  We were directly in front of a huge sunken ferry, a quarter of it sucked into the mud on its port side.  Shaking my head I mumbled “A pretty good landmark I’d say.  I might tell them.”  The ferry was being held together by a few rusty nails and could let go with any unusual weight.  We secured Big Sky with extra lines envisioning such a fate.

“Sorry, we cannot lift you today,” they told Con in the office.  “We have a situation up the river, a boat is caught sideways and may turtle; we need the crane to fix that.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Con replied.  “But, is there someone else that can lift us, we need to be at the airport by 10 a.m. this morning for our flight?”

They shrugged, “we’ll get back to you.”

Back at the boat, we continued getting ready, both lost in our own thoughts, pondering life and our next steps.  I knew Big Sky couldn’t remain on that rickety pier.  No room at Ostia.  Maybe I remain behind to ensure Big Sky is safe and let Con carry on to Canada alone.

Closing up our suitcases, ready to haul them off, I said to Con, “I think I should stay and oversee the lift, come later…”

We were interrupted by a friendly Italians voice, “Canada!”  We spotted a posse of men ripping their way up the river in a small motor boat with old tires tied all the way around the boat.  One guy was pointing at our boat and their driver cranked their wheel nearly tipping their boat.  Continuing at lightening speed, they motored to Big Sky, bashed against the police Zodiac behind us to slow and against us to stop, climbed aboard  “okay, let’s go Canada!”

They lifted us.  We climbed down, suitcases in tow, caught a cab and by 11 a.m., we were sitting in the departure lounge.

"Sailing Through Life with Attitude"
Barb Radu Sprenger

Attitude is: making a choice to put on a smile or a frown; what attracts people or pushes them away; the way you choose to see the world, in grey or in living colour. 
I choose to see it in living vibrant colours, and as many hues as possible.  

Life is like sailing; it’s the journey, not the destination.  On your journey, be all you can be: experience joy in its rawest form, laugh longer, cry from pain and from happiness, find a positives in negatives, forgive and ask for forgiveness, be truthful, trust your instincts, give respect and take it, and love like there’s no tomorrow. Live your journey!

INTRODUCTION

March 2007, our journey began.  Con and I weren’t leaving Canada for another month but the emotional journey was already set into place.   We’d given away nearly all of our possessions over the last few months, packing up only about 30 boxes and a few treasured pieces of furniture called “our absolutely-can’t-part-with items,” from our 5,000 square foot Calgary home.  The cardboard boxes held our photo albums, heirlooms, and odd little things that we’d hung onto throughout our lives that helped to, I guess, define us.  Before sealing them, I itemized every precious item in my computer file called “Getting Ready.”  Con used his 61-year old fit muscles to stack the boxes in an orderly fashion deep into the alcove under the basement stairs.  The more awkward pieces of furniture were placed strategically into what was once our wine cellar.  Incredibly, the final piece of furniture, a Norwegian leather chair, Con hoisted easily up over his head, setting it carefully upside down on our collection of treasures.   We held our breath and pushed the door closed and locked it.  We joked that if we’d have forgotten anything, we’d have had to forfeit it, like the towels we left hanging in the bathroom.  We didn’t dare open the door for fear everything would topple like a house of cards.

I pulled the key out of the lock and leaned back against the door.  “I wonder how relevant any of these things will be when we’re finished with our journey Con?” 

He shrugged and pulled me toward him for a great big hug.  “Let’s not worry about that now, we have just a few more hours, then we’re on our way!”

It’s an interesting development, that having minimal possessions makes life freer, lighter, and more spiritual.  It dawned on me, as we were giving away our cars, couches, dining room sets, bedroom suites, almost all of our clothes, and nearly everything we owned, and had collected over our combined 113 years, that they represented the “material” us.  Now, free of things, where would this adventure take us?

What I didn’t know then was that we were about to begin an adventure of a life time, far beyond exotic new locations, foreign people, different languages, and new and interesting foods.  That April, we began a rich journey of our souls.  Who would have known that giving away our possessions, paved the way for our spiritual and physical exploration?

Con and I delved into things as simple and equally as complex as who we are, what we like, what fills us with passion and curiosity, testing our limits of tolerance, bravery, patience, and kindness.  How were we so incredibly lucky, blessed perhaps to be able to meet ourselves in this intimate way, to be able to challenge our responses to the familiar and to the not so familiar?  Over the next few years, Con and I sailed from harbour to harbour from anchorage to anchorage stepping outside our comfort zone on dozens of occasions armed with an intense curiosity and love of the beautiful world around us to experience this world and some of its inhabitants wherever the seas and oceans lured us.

 “Twenty years from now you’ll be disappointed about the things you didn’t do, rather than the ones you did.  So throw off those bow lines. Sail away from the safe harbour.  Catch the trade winds in your sails.  Explore.  Dream.  Discover.” 
    Mark Twain

Blissfully ignorant beginnings

I stepped out of our cozy home perched high on a ridge, overlooking the largest inner-city natural park in Canada and landed deep into the cockpit of our 51.5’ sailing yacht, Big Sky!  This would be home for the next, well I don’t know how many years. 

My life had taken on new dimensions, in the last five years, a bit complicated at times, but certainly full and rewarding.   I loved being part of my adult daughters’ day-to-day lives and in the last few years, we’d been gently recreating “family” with Con’s daughters.  All the while, I was pouring myself into my job, driven to create a national charitable organization from an idea that had been presented to me in 1999, and loving every moment of it. My friends and family played an enormously important role in my life. 

The last three years, prior to sailing, Con and I had been totally absorbed in setting up “house” together.  We were doing a bit of renovating, lots of entertaining, year-round gardening, and building “family.”   In between, we were taking extraordinary holidays to exotic places all over the world.  We had the Rocky Mountains at our back door and took advantage of the winter skiing and summer hikes. My life was full and good and if I continued that way until my end days, I would have been more than satisfied.

Con was filled with dreams and ambition to fulfill those dreams.  Following him in his dreams has opened my eyes to life far beyond the depths of my imagination. He’s a dreamer, but what sets him apart from the millions of dreamers out there is that he turns those dreams into reality. Exploring the world in a sailboat was the dream of his childhood and it is unfolding before our eyes. When I’m left to my private thoughts, I’m dumbfounded that it’s me living this life of mine, with a man I love, whose dreams go so much deeper and much further than my own mind’s eye.

Well into our third year living aboard, I was happily ignorant as to how we could ever end it. When did I fall in love with Con’s dream? I pondered.  It wasn’t too long ago that I was sick to my stomach with anticipation of overnight sails, quietly panicking through rough seas, secretly double checking Con’s charted courses for accuracy.  When did I relax?  

I want Con and I to life as full as possible and experience all the joy and wonderment it offers.  I want it for our daughters and for our grandkids too.  I want my message to be heard: live life now.  Don’t put off for your tomorrow’s because you may not get one.

When taking my last breath, I’ll smile with satisfaction that I did it:  lived well, loved hard, and pushed my personal potential in business and in play outside my safety zone.    

All the good and bad experiences throughout my life have been the paving stones leading me to where I am today. Looking back, my life has been laid out like a road map, with all roads leading to where I am today.  There were a few gravel lanes that eventually got paved, moving me to long smooth highways, two or three freeways, thankfully with off ramps. A couple of confusing intersections needed some work, and then there was the proverbial fork.  Deciding which fork to travel has always been easy, because my inner voice is loud and clear -- when I listen and when I put honesty and kindness in my motives.  I swear I’ve seen the world’s magic blossoms around me filling my soul with brilliant colours. However, when I’ve taken the wrong fork, usually by putting wrong intentions behind my actions, the colours in my world take on a dull sheen.  Luckily, there’s always a round-about in the road and I’ve found my way to where I am today.     

While living life in the fast lane, Con and I had been smacked a few times with the profound finality of death, the crippling affects of grief, and the reality that it could happen again.  We decided to take hold of life and not give it another chance to take hold of us.  We hoisted our sails in Finland, sooner than we’d originally planned, but driven by our need to live life now. We chased the sun into the Mediterranean and beyond, letting the warm exotic breezes and a few wildly insane gusts fill our sails.  Sailing in and out of dozens of countries, the attraction of the world’s mysteries tempted us further and further.   

Fretting over language barriers in foreign rural villages or foreign busy cities is totally unnecessary.  We’ve never encountered communication problems.  For the most part, people are the same everywhere we’ve traveled; warm-hearted, inviting, honest, yet remarkably unique.

There have been a few calamities along the way, for instance when Big Sky couldn’t hold back the fury of the sea – in the marina!  We learned the power of Mother Nature in a matter of minutes, when our boat was messed up by her.  The wind roared into the marina, bashed us against the concrete wall, popping sturdy fenders, ripping off the rub rail along our hull, and bent the heavy stainless steel rail like soft rubber. 

We respect the Atlantic tides in Northern France and only enter tidal regions armed with knowledge.  If it says it “may” silt to a depth less than your keel, believe it!  We learned the hard way and dragged our keel through a few French tidal river beds praying that we’d not hit a solid or that we’d drag too deep and become lodged.  On an ebbing tide, with just a five-minute window to get Big Sky back out of the lock and back to sea, chaos struck.  It was the lowest tide of the year in a drying channel.  Leaving on the highest tide possible, Big Sky exited the lock, and promptly became lodged deep into the sooty mud and the ebbing had already begun.  Within the hour, we’d be on our side in a dry river bed!  With precious seconds left on the tide, Con rocked her back and forth, using the bow thrusters and as much torque as she could handle and we crawled through the mud like a slug back out to sea.     

It’s impossible to outrun a thunder and lightening storm; it’s bigger, quicker and meaner.  That goes for ferries and cruise liners too!   When we spot tornado formations, we steer away and hope Mother Nature is kind that day. When lightening surrounds us, we stuff our computers and GPS’s into the oven (the most insulated piece of equipment aboard) and stay below.  We know, because a bolt got us, zapped our autopilot while we were out at sea, but the oven saved our computers and GPS’s!

The Baltic Sea “road ways” are well marked, or maybe it’s better to say over marked! If there’s a next time for us in Finland, we’ll study those markers more closely.  They’re confusing.  Their red and green markers have an opposite meaning from North America, but that was easy for us to relearn. The difficulty was deciphering the meaning of the yellow markers; the yellow with black marks; black and white striped with white on top; and the white and black striped with black on top.   They’re coded based on the direction you’re traveling, for instance, east to west; north to south…  If traveling east turning north, keep the white with black on top on your port, or starboard…  We knew first hand how devastating it was to leave the road way, after hitting a bolder just outside one marina when we shaved the roadway by 10 meters!  The Finnish fog is a whole other challenge.  Studying the exit route from one marina, (wide enough for one ferry or two sailboats side by side) with the fog just lifting, we attempted the zigzag maze out of the channel passed the dozens of coloured posts and markers.  Too confused, we decided to follow one of the ferries. In a matter of minutes, the ferry was well out of sight, and the fog blanketed us. Blind, we inched forward using our GPS, then heard the frightening fog horn sound indicating another ferry coming quickly up behind us.  Incredibly, our GPS went haywire in that moment, bouncing our marker from land to rocks to open sea.  Dumbfounded, we stopped right there in the roadway hoping to get a fix; hoping the fog would lift as quickly as it dropped on us.  Not able to see past Big Sky’s bow or 10 meters behind us, everything eerily quiet, we heard the awful sound of the ferry blasting, then the dreadful sight of it materializing through the fog, just meters off our stern!

Giving your guests a few docking instructions before setting sail is handy, especially if you fall into the harbour just when Con needs you to ready the lines.  My words still echo embarrassingly, “no, no, relax and watch me, I know exactly what I’m doing…”  Unfortunately, there isn’t always a ladder to climb out of the harbour, and later learning that dead rats floated nearby was very unpleasant.  Con’s words live somewhere in my head and wake me in the night, “Barb, swim away from the boat.” The jellyfish, mussels and unidentified creatures living around the pier gave me Superwoman ability to lift my soggy self up onto the pier, but not without fracturing a rib.

Understand ebbing tides and tidal rivers.  Know your simple math when entering a river in a storm.  Five to six meter waves in a three meter deep river entrance with a 2.1 meter keel means you’ll be potentially a meter in the silt.

Con’s a calm and competent captain, who saved our keisters and Big Sky plenty of times.  I invite you to join me as I take you through some of our adventures as we’re “Sailing Through Life.” 

I'm in the final edit stages, and will soon seek a publisher.
If you have advice, please contact me: barb@sailbigsky.com