Whenever you take an adventure, only one thing is certain: You will not come back the same person.
After nearly three months of living on the sea and out of much of society’s clutches, all of my priorities have been switched upside down. The things I thought were important have become miniscule; the things I thought were trivial have become monumental.
My sense of smell is better. Time has slowed down, and I find myself engaged in lengthy conversations with complete strangers, forgetting all of the other things I was going to get done that day. I have started to respect the ocean, not as some wild sea world to react to, but as an extension of myself. Every time I eat a fish or drink some water, I am taking the ocean in, and, in essence, I become the ocean, and the ocean becomes me.
When I first set out to sail around the world, I expected isolated beaches, mellow climates, unknown surf breaks and women in grass skirts singing me to sleep with their ukeleles. I didn’t think about the lulls, the doldrums, the terrifying storms or the dishonest and thieving people met from time to time. I didn’t think about being stuck somewhere because you don’t trust your boat on the ocean and because there is nothing but work to be done.
I did not fully grasp the reality of the situation I was putting myself in. At some point there becomes no getting out. Setting a goal like this and then not achieving it would be enough to break a man permanently. On top of that, all of my blood, sweat, tears, work and money goes into my boat, and walking away from it is something I can’t even fathom. The boat is home, and where it goes, I go.
In early January we arrived in La Paz, Mexico, after 74 days and about 1,200 nautical miles. Though the four of us shared a common dream, we were all in agreement that the four of us in a 32-foot boat was like putting four slices of bread in a two-slot toaster. It works, but the bread gets squished.
The boat we came down on was Eric and Pam’s boat, and at some point, Tyler and I got the feeling that they wanted the boat to themselves and had a different vision for where the boat would go.
Tyler and I are determined to make it to the South Pacific this year, and we found a beautiful 35-foot CT Pilothouse Ketch in desperate need of repairs. The boat had been for sale for more than a year. I looked at what money I could scrape together and made an incredibly low offer, less than half the asking price. To my surprise, the buyer accepted. I became a proud and very nervous boat owner.
The boat needs a lot of work, and I would not take her out of the bay in the condition she’s in. Luckily for us, La Paz has a community of sailors like no place I have ever seen. There is a wealth of knowledge, and for the price of a beer, I can have an answer for any question from advanced diesel mechanics and marine electrical systems to how to fix a hinge in rotted wood.
Because Tyler and I will be doing most of the work ourselves, that knowledge is priceless. I am confident that come April, our boat will take us anywhere and everywhere.
Kevin Schank graduated from Durango High School in 2004 and Fort Lewis College in 2010. Follow Schank at www.MoreHandsOnDeck.com
