There seems to be a tipping point before any significant or lengthy sailing trip we make, a point before which I go to bed eager each night for the next day to pass, happy to be that much closer to the date of departure and looking forward to leaving everything behind in favor of brisk winds and full sails. After that undefinable but certain point passes, though, I wake each morning with trepidation, wondering if it is really one day closer to that dreadful hour we must leave, and whether or not it might be possible to indefinitely delay our departure instead so that I might have time to deal with all the lists of tasks I have compiled during those earlier, happier periods.
That point has arrived.
When Marty posted prior to a recent trip regarding his anxiety at the beginning of voyages, it immediately resonated with me (in fact, you can read the comments on his post for my own early-trip horror story) because I often find myself nervous before heading out on major trips as well. It’s a little odd, because there’s really no more likelihood of something going wrong than if you were just heading out for a day sail. I suppose the impact may be greater, but it still seems a little silly. And it’s not like life stops just because you leave port. All that stuff that needs to be done will probably still get done. With some minor handicaps, I can work through most of the next three months just as if I were here in the slip at “home.” The boat, after all, has all the same stuff aboard no matter where we are, and it’s not as if Canada or the North Sound is an isolated backwater without chain stores and high-speed Internet access.
I know, intellectually, that whether things go wrong or not after we leave, I will still have a feeling of freedom and exhilaration once we are actually gone. It may take a couple of days for the residual tension to leak out, but I get over the anticipation of difficulties and start enjoying myself, at some level, eventually.
Just not today.
The usual pre-trip anxieties have been exacerbated by a series of difficulties in executing a sublet agreement for our slip while we are away. We like to lease the slip out while we are gone not just to cover the moorage fees, but also because it serves as a sort of burning the boats incentive to both leave on time and stay gone as long as planned. With the slip just sitting here, we might be tempted to cut things short and duck back if the weather gets nasty or work piles up or something else calls us home. Or, with all those lists of things to do, we might just sit there, working madly, never getting around to going out and enjoying ourselves. With another boat sitting in our slip, the temptation, and possibility, is squashed.
In the past when we’ve done this it’s taken one phone call, a short meeting to complete the paperwork for the port, get a check, and hand over the key fob. This time around, the first candidate only wanted to lease the slip for part of the time available. That would have left us a little short on cash, so I went with the second guy who called, who turned out to be out of state. That resulted in enough hoops to jump through that I found myself wishing I had called it off and gone with guys three, four, five, or six who called instead, and has delayed our departure even further, but at last it’s all over with and we’re free to leave. Friday afternoon of the Fourth of July weekend. In the rain. With everyone else.
So we’re not actually going very far, just down a few docks, where we’ll wait for the weather and crowds to clear, as is predicted for next week. Then, under clearer skies and sunshine, my anxiety should turn to joy and the clean exhilaration of sailing uncrowded seas will replace the clouded apprehension in my mind.